


Reactants

by ead13



Series: Reactants [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood On the Ice questline, Dragonborn is Lami and Jorgen's daughter from Morthal, Dragonborn sucks at alchemy but tries..., Dragonborn was a mercenary, F/M, Grey Quarter Dunmer Allies ftw, Nurelion: overly harsh but secretly cares, Past Emotional Manipulation, Reluctant Dragonborn, Repairing the Phial questline, White Phial questline, canon character death, main questline referenced, master/apprentice relationship, sassy Lydia plays the wingman, thane/housecarl relationship, unlikely crushes, we should really call this 'bonding over cure disease potions'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-02-17 19:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 77,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13083324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ead13/pseuds/ead13
Summary: Quintus is a humble apprentice alchemist, more into his studies than girls, and ever obedient to his master, Nurelion. Fjori is a talkative mercenary who's just happy if she can mix two ingredients together and have them make something remotely useful. One day these two reactants combine and the strangest reaction occurs. Lydia and Nurelion can only shake their heads in disbelief.Now, the question is whether this reaction can be replicated consistently...





	1. Chemistry

**Author's Note:**

> I really like these two, honestly, and now that I understand their characters better, I want to do this thing justice. I'm taking it back to the drawing board and fleshing things out.
> 
> Besides, there's like one serious fanfic involving Quintus Navale, and that's a crime. He deserves lots of nice fanfiction tributes...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fateful meeting.

Plenty of Creep Cluster left, without any hint of wilting. The young man stuck his hand into the barrel to further investigate, nimble fingers gliding across the coral-colored stems and verifying that the stock had maintained its proper gloss and firmness, even on the delicate tendrils. Everything met his rigorous standards. Content with his findings, he slid the lid back on the barrel and picked up his inventory log, scrawling some notes in quick, crisp handwriting.

Each month, he had to assess the quantity and quality of the ingredients being stored in the back room. It was a dull job worthy of an apprentice, certainly not worth his master’s time, but one necessary for the running of the alchemy store. Truthfully, he didn’t mind the job other than the chill in the air that aided in preserving many of the ingredients. He’d come from the south and more temperate climes, and despite the years he’d spent in Skyrim, he’d never quite adjusted to the temperature difference. Still, organizing and categorizing was a calming activity, and one that always provided a sense of accomplishment.

The apprentice next moved on to a crate of Scaly Pholiota, which was stored on a shelf near the barrels. He frowned when he noted the fungi had started to shrivel. It would not be as easy to obtain fresh stock, seeing as they could only be harvested in the golden forests of the Southern Rift. He’d have to note that more should be purchased at the next possible opportunity. In the meantime, perhaps they could use the deteriorating ingredients with their abundant Creep Cluster to make some fortify carry weight potions; that would be the best way to recoup the money.

As he moved to note this in his records, he heard the metallic jingle of the bell above the shop door, followed by the sound of the door slamming shut with far more force than was necessary. Quintus Navale couldn’t help the scoff that escaped as he shook his head and returned to his work. No doubt the customer was yet another muscle-bound mercenary that didn’t know their own brute strength. The White Phial saw more than its fair share of customers such as this. It was, after all, one of the best alchemy shops in all of Skyrim, and in a province that as a general rule looked down on magic, that meant steady business from all walks of life, especially the adventurers and warriors. The traditional brews derived from plants and animals served as much more trusted remedies to the citizens of Windhelm than restoration spells from even the best-trained mages. These strange Nord beliefs were positively barbaric, but he couldn’t argue seeing as it gave him his livelihood.

Once he finished writing his findings in the notebook, he gave pause and frowned. It was too quiet. The customers that came in always placed their orders at the front counter, and rather loudly too. The local Nords were not shy about making demands of an elf, regardless of the fact that his master, Nurelion, had lived at least five times longer than them and possessed remarkable expertise in the field of alchemy. It was a good thing that Nurelion would tolerate nothing but the utmost respect and had enough self-confidence to fill the entire Abeccean Sea…. Some days, Quintus wondered whether the old alchemist even realized the customers were looking down on him, or if he was too busy looking down on THEM to realize that fact.

Shrugging, he turned back to the supplies and began to count the bundles of small antlers on the bottom shelf. He didn’t have to focus on their quality, given that they would never lose their potency like many of the other ingredients, and so his mind continued to muse over the puzzle. The Dunmer customers from the Grey Quarter were much more soft-spoken and respectful, but he didn’t even hear that much from the other room. Perhaps this was one of the rare occasions where a patron had some skill with alchemy and simply wished to use the crafting station in the front room? But even then they’d give some precursory greeting before going to work, assuming they were decent, polite people.

If it wasn’t that either, had it just been Master Nurelion going out without telling him? This idea seemed even more unlikely than the rest. Nurelion no doubt believed that if left alone, he would accidentally blow up the store with an errant experiment. There was no way in Mundus he’d leave without providing explicit instructions to be carried out in his absence, even if for five minutes. To Nurelion, he would always be little more than a child. Quintus had come to accept this. Why shouldn’t he? Compared to the long life awarded by Nurelion’s Altmer blood, his twenty three years was hardly anything.

“I don’t appreciate loiterers, if that is what you are here to do.”

Nurelion’s cross voice nearly made him drop his pen. It definitely made him lose count. So there WAS someone in the shop. Now, for the first time, he could hear the clinking of heavy boots on the floor, most likely part of a full suit of armor. He’d been right about the mercenary part as well, it seemed. What caught him off guard was the flippant, feminine voice that followed. “Oh, sorry, didn’t see you standing there. I was just looking for a few things in my pack.”

It wasn’t necessarily the fact that this mystery customer was a woman that threw him off; he’d seen plenty of female sell-swords enter the shop. Some of them had been even more masculine than he was, unsettling as that felt. What got him was the lightness in her voice despite the heaviness of her movements. Something about it just didn’t seem to equate. Finally, the young apprentice could handle his curiosity no longer and rapidly invented an excuse to bring the box of aging Scaly Pholiota out to the front counter. Even as he neared the entrance to the main room, peering around the corner while remaining half-hidden by the wall, he remained silent and cautious, as was his way.

To his surprise, the armor-clad woman he’d heard was now standing at the alchemy table, throwing this, that and the other ingredient together. She hadn’t bothered to take off her helmet, or even her steel gauntlets as she worked, a fact he mentally noted contributed to her clumsy technique and unsteady hands. A second, similarly-armored woman stood nearby, shaking her head in disbelief at the haphazard display while keeping her arms folded. They were apparently ignoring Nurelion completely, and unsurprisingly the old man looked as if he’d just bitten into a sour apple. “Are you here to shop or just use my facilities?”

“Ah, don’t worry, if I can’t find any ingredients to cure disease, I’ll be buying a potion or two from you in a moment,” the strange experimenter stated absently, reaching for more snowberries and throwing them in with creep cluster. Quintus furrowed his brow. That wasn’t going to work… And indeed, the mixture made a poof of smoke and turned black. No good. Instead of being discouraged, she simply hummed thoughtfully, reached into her pack for more snowberries, and this time withdrew jazbay grapes as well. And that wasn’t going to work any better than the last combination…

“You don’t know anything about alchemy, do you?” Nurelion accused in utter annoyance, giving voice to Quintus’ own thoughts. He had worked for Nurelion long enough to know that this waste of ingredients irked him to no end.

“I do know a little bit, actually. I know how to mix things together, I just don’t know WHAT to mix together. That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” She paused, thinking. “Hey Lydia, would you jot down in my journal that snowberries and creep cluster do not mix?”

Her silent companion finally responded as she moved to retrieve the object in question. “As you wish, my…”

“Thank you!” Poof. “And add jazbay grapes to that list.”

“You know, you could just BUY recipes and…”

“Haven’t got the money for that. Spent it all on those cure disease potions. You know, for something so crucial to saving lives, those things cost an awful lot. I’ve gone through four of them this week alone!” Heaving a dramatic sigh, she paused her experiments to finally remove her horned helmet. Sweat-soaked strands of the shoulder-length hair remained plastered to her head. “Holy Akatosh is it warm in here…”

Nurelion ignored this outburst. His mind was and always would be preoccupied first and foremost with alchemy. “You’re wasting money on ingredients. I don’t see how this careless massacre is any better.”

“What, these?” For the first time, she turned around as she held open her bag. To Quintus’s shock, there were visible strands of spider silk in her copper hair, and dirt smudging what he judged to be a normally fair face. Some kind of adventurer then? Hard to believe she would go out in public looking so disheveled! By the time he’d drawn his focus away from her face, she was already tucking the bag away before he could look at its contents. “All stuff I picked up on the tundra. Not like it cost me anything, and not like it will fetch much of a price.”

Nurelion grunted thoughtfully, his bony fingers drumming against the counter. Finally, he barked “Quintus!” The young Imperial snapped to attention, nearly dropping the box he was carrying. For the first time, all eyes in the room came to rest upon him. He clutched the box nervously to his chest. 

“Yes, Master?”

Nurelion’s golden eyes narrowed to find his apprentice had been standing there the whole time. “Slacking off instead of cataloguing, were you? Go check our stores of spider eggs and silk. Perhaps we can exchange some for a simple recipe that even this amateur can use!” 

More than his master’s sharp voice, he faltered when he felt the hazel eyes of the outgoing customer study him curiously. Strange, it was as if they couldn’t decide whether they were gray or green…or maybe blue? “Of course, Master Nurelion. Right away.” Spinning around abruptly, and still hanging onto that damned box, he retreated back to the storeroom to take inventory as instructed. From back there he could only make out bits and pieces of the conversation as it continued, despite his best efforts to quietly slide the lids off the containers. Something about how she came from Morthal, knew a lot about swamp fungal pods and deathbells, and was the daughter of the alchemist out there. He also caught Nurelion’s incredulous snort at the thought of her being related to a practitioner of the art with such poor form. By the time he finished his hurried assessment and returned to report his findings, he managed catch her answer.

She remained upbeat despite Nurelion’s lack of tact. “Well, my mom is hardly an alchemist. We haven’t got many people in town, certainly none that can do better, and at the least she can make mixtures that do more than kill you faster. Other than the tried and true recipes for restoring health and stamina with local ingredients, she really just throws things together to see what will happen though.” 

“Then I can see where you get it from,” he muttered, turning his attention back to his apprentice. “And?”

“We have a decent amount of spider eggs. Spider silk, on the other hand, is running low. Not many people willing to take on the actual spiders to get it, I imagine.”

“So how many should we buy?”

Quintus blanked. “Ummm…”

His master sighed. “Fool boy, how long have you been doing this job?”

He felt his face turn red, which he always hated all the more given his vibrant red hair. He’d been so busy trying to eavesdrop that he hadn’t counted out the exact amounts. Nurelion was right, it was an amateur move on his part. “I’m…I’m sorry master, let me just double check…”

“Never mind!” Nurelion waved him away, turning once more to the customer. “I’ll buy whatever you don’t need.”

The quiet woman, Lydia she’d been called, nodded to her companion encouragingly, so the apparent leader of the pair reached into her pack and withdrew 20 strands of spider silk, which she presented to the merchant. “At least we’ll get SOME money out of that endeavor,” Lydia grumbled under her breath.

The copper-haired woman nodded, though seemed to lose some of her spark after the tongue-lashing Nurelion had given his assistant. “Here we come all the way to Windhelm to accept a job, and in the end all we get out of it was a bit of smithing training. For being commissioned by the Jarl, that’s pretty shoddy if you ask me.” She continued to talk despite her change in demeanor as if talking were a force of habit, and she was completely oblivious to the fact that Nurelion looked pained at the prospect of hearing the story of how she’d acquired the item to be purchased. “I’d hardly break even without this, not after resupplying the cure disease potions…” 

“You spent them on the spiders?” Quintus surprised himself at his timid question. After being embarrassed in front of these customers, he hadn’t expected to find the nerve to ask. Somehow, though, in contrast to Nurelion’s disinterest, he got the feeling that this woman had an interesting story to tell, and would tell it in a manner that would be equally interesting. She had thus far proven to be anything but boring.

“No, I was able to snipe the spiders for the most part without them noticing me. Even the giant brood mother wasn’t so bad, considering the mammoth skeleton hanging in her lair…” His eyebrows raised in shock beneath the furry brim of his hat, and this seemed to perk her up, a smirk emerging across her features. “It was actually the vampires who claimed my last cure disease potion. Found a secret cavern behind a switch-activated door in the spider’s lair and brought them to an end, but man, without that spare I’d be sucking your blood as we speak!”

“It’s broad daylight,” Lydia pointed out. “Besides, the disease wouldn’t have even taken over yet.” Nurelion too was rolling his eyes, though for other reasons. He clearly wanted business, not small-talk.

Still, she paid those two no mind. She realized that she had a captive audience in Quintus, and that was more than enough to fuel her narration. “So you see, I’m more than a bit vexed that retrieving that sword for the Jarl earned me such a pittance. All that work, but you can’t loot anything from vampires, being that their things might be tainted with their cursed disease…”

“People think that Sanguinare Vampiris can only be contracted directly from the vampire, but they forget that the weapons vampires carry often inflict the disease as well. It wouldn’t surprise me if their other items carry the pathogens. Consuming any edibles would be a huge risk. However, perhaps if you found jewelry or gems, you could soak them in a purifying salt solution…” And now, Quintus was on a roll, contemplating the practical applications of alchemy towards this problem.

Her eyes lit up. “Hey, maybe I should go back to that cave then and we can test it out! You know, assuming I have a cure disease potion just in case it doesn’t work…”

Finally, Nurelion had had enough. “If you are quite finished, the spider silk, please!”

The woman jolted back to reality. “Oh, right. Here.” Finally, she laid the silk on the counter. “How much can you give me?”

Quintus ran through the numbers in his head. It looked like about twenty strands, so by his reckoning, 250 septims would be appropriate, and that was erring on the side of the buyer, not the seller. 

Nurelion squinted. “200 septims.” Quintus stifled a sharp inhale at this low-ball offer. Surely his master knew better and was just annoyed with the chatty client. He wanted to say something, but knew he couldn’t without being disciplined for it later. All he could do was hope she grasped the need to counter.

The woman frowned in disappointment. “Only 200? Darn, that won’t buy me even one potion. I guess I’m losing out on this venture…” She was talking to herself, not bartering, and accepted the coin offered to her without another word about the total. Given his Imperial sensibility, Quintus nearly groaned; this woman was a typical Nord with no haggling skills! “And how much for three cure disease potions?”

“750 septims.” Nurelion didn’t even bat an eye.

She visibly winced, but moved to pull out her purse. “Can’t be helped, I suppose, not after having that gangrene scare.” 

“You were fighting draugr?” Again, Quintus couldn’t help himself but ask. What else could infect a person with gangrene? Well, Dwemer machinery, but in this part of the world, it was far more likely that someone like her was raiding tombs. It certainly wasn’t a disease a normal person picked up from day to day life.

“Yeah, to get an artifact for someone.” She finished counting out her coin and slid it across the counter to Nurelion, who eagerly snatched it up. “I barely made it to a store in time after using all of my healing potions to stall its progression.”

“So, you are a professional adventurer then?” An idea was forming, a proposition of sorts. At first it barely registered, but the more he heard about her exploits, the more feasible it became. She may seem a bit flighty, but apparently she knew how to handle herself in combat if she was still standing here. Maybe the being broke part was more bad luck than lack of ability?

“Quintus, quit babbling and get me three cure disease potions from the back room!” For the first time, his raised voice triggered a coughing fit. It sounded like the cough was lodged deep in his lungs, rattling his body. The demanding old man suddenly seemed frail.

Whatever plans Quintus had been making flew out the window at this display, deep concern written all over his face. “Master! Wait, let me fetch you your tonic first…”

“Damn it all boy, there is a customer waiting for her purchase! That is much more important than fetching me a tonic that won’t even do anything to help!” He continued to cough, grasping onto the counter for support.

The young man’s ears burned with embarrassment. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t waste your breath with apologies, just get me that order!”

He opened his mouth to apologize again, but caught himself. Recoiling slightly from the verbal blow, he ducked his head and slunk into the back room. Damn it, why was Nurelion getting to him like that? Normally a few harsh words never got under his skin, but today he could feel the prickling of tears in his eyes as he clumsily searched through their stores. It was that easy-going copper-haired warrior. For whatever reason, he hated being scolded in front of her…

“Hey, it’s my fault for talking to him, so don’t take it out on the poor guy! And he’s only worried about you, so don’t fault him that either! I am in no hurry.” His ears perked up, and he could hardly believe what he was hearing. She was defending him?

“He needs to focus. I don’t have much time left, as you could probably deduce.”

“What, he’s your apprentice?”

“Yes, the boy is my apprentice! And he’s got a lot to learn before he can take over. He can’t afford to be bumbling around like an incompetent child!”

Quintus froze with his hand reaching into the storage crate. Oddly enough, he and Nurelion had never had this conversation. His master was getting sick, but he seemed to live in denial about it in all ways except one. That was the one thing he had wanted to ask the adventurer. But this talk of taking over, of completing his training, like time was running out… This was a new concept. It felt like a pressing weight and a burden lifted all at the same time. So his master did have confidence in his abilities? He was simply expecting so much from him that it felt impossible to meet those expectations?

Finally deciding in a burst of courage fueled by this revelation, Quintus grabbed what he needed and marched back into the shop. “If you’re an adventurer, then maybe you can help with something for my Master!”

“Quintus…” Nurelion warned, but he would not be deterred.

“He’s been looking for an artifact for over a decade now, and we know where it is, but can’t get to it. He’s too old and sick, and I have no skills in that department, but maybe someone strong like you could retrieve it for us!”

Before Nurelion could interject, the woman pounded her hand into her fist enthusiastically. “That sounds exactly like my department alright. Nordic ruins?”

“Y-yeah. Not too far from Windhelm.”

Nurelion sighed heavily, cutting both off. “So be it, boy. I’d contemplated it myself, but I guess there’s no going back now. But you go make yourself useful and grab a map while I explain.”

“Of course, Master, right away!” Relieved for the first time all morning it seemed, he scrambled up the stairs to grab the map on the sitting area table where Nurelion did all his reading and research. As he reached down to grab it, he contemplated the pen and ink sitting at the ready nearby. A slow smile crossed his face. He plucked the quill from the table and dipped it neatly into the inkwell. Then he scribbled a few notes on the back of the map while still wearing that stupid grin, blowing the ink dry before carefully rolling it up. She had been getting the short end of the stick today between her employer and Nurelion. Surely she deserved that information, if for no other reason than she had really truly seen him.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

“My Thane, what’s gotten into you? We only came to Windhelm to complete the contract you had BEFORE everything with the dragon, as honor would require. We’re supposed to head to High Hrothgar and speak with the Greybeards, not pick up new jobs from cranky old shopkeepers! I mean, you are a once in an era figure, not just some mercenary!”

Fjori grinned mischievously as she and her housecarl headed back to the inn along the snowy, cobbled streets. Lydia hadn’t said hardly anything while in the store, undoubtedly feeling it wasn’t her place as a glorified bodyguard, but now that they had exited she was getting an earful of everything the woman had wanted to say. “I know, I know… But how are we going to get to High Hrothgar if we don’t have any money for supplies?”

“And what if he decides to pay you in recipes or something? Haven’t you learned to get a detailed payment agreement since Queen Freydis’s sword?”

Fjori just shrugged. “At least then I’ll hopefully be able to make more potions, then turn around and sell them for money. I’ve got enough ingredients, just not the knowledge. It would pay for itself.”

Lydia squinted at her Thane carefully. She’d been reserved at first, like the proper housecarl she was trained to be. It didn’t take long for her to see Fjori was not the kind of person who liked people bowing to her though, no surprise seeing as she had grown up a poor girl from the marshes, completely unused to having someone at her beck and call. Lydia had changed her habits accordingly. The changes came with surprising ease despite the years of training embedded within her. Still, never in a million years did she expect she’d be calling out her master as she was about to do. “If I had to guess, I’d say you took that job right away just because that shopkeeper’s assistant asked you. You couldn’t say ‘no’ to him, could you?”

Fjori threw her hands in the air defensively. “Oh come on, Quintus looked like he needed a break! Is it a crime to feel sorry for him?”

“Aha, you even remember his name!” Lydia pointed a finger accusingly.

“Yeah, so? Nurelion only yelled it how many times!” Fjori batted the finger away.

“Like three. Maybe four. Usually it was just ‘boy’.”

“Whatever, Lydia. It’s nothing.”

They walked in silence for a few paces before a new question emerged. “You think he’s cute, don’t you?”

For the first time since the pair had been united, Lydia saw her boss blush. Was Quintus cute? Fjori honestly couldn’t remember. She could recall his shy demeanor, his keen interest in hearing her exploits, the body language that screamed deference to the old man. Why the hell couldn’t she recreate the image of his face in her mind? It made her feel horribly guilty. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t remember what he looks like? I just remember what he acted like.”

“Hmph, so do I. In one word, wimpy.”

“He’s not wimpy, he’s earnest! And that’s a nice quality in a man.” Fjori was staring at the sky now trying to avoid Lydia’s gaze. “Suffice it to say I know what a self-centered man is like, and I much prefer the earnest type. Whether he’s cute or not is completely irrelevant.”

“I see. So you just like him for his personality.”

“I didn’t say I-”

“You don’t have to. It’s my job to know these things.”

“It’s your job to protect me, not pry into my non-existent love-life!” she scowled, casting an unamused look. That was enough to get Lydia to back off. The warrior wondered if she was beginning to get too comfortable with her charge and had overstepped her bounds.

“Well, at any rate, any more subservient and that Nurelion is going to run him into the ground. I suppose I should thank you for not being a master like him, huh?”

This seemed to break the tense mood. Fjori scoffed. “Definitely. I’d tan your hide for making accusations like that otherwise.” Hoping to change the subject, Fjori pulled out her map as the pair left the market area. “Now, let’s see where we’re going exactly. Hopefully we can make a day trip out of it. Quintus said it was pretty close…” She unfurled the scroll, revealing the image of Skyrim. Windhelm was marked by the symbol of the bear along the eastern border, and a little ways to the west along the Yogrim River was an ‘x’ symbol. There was also some writing along the bottom that rippled in the biting wind.

Lydia started to wonder what her boss was reading that left her speechless after so many moments, and when she looked over she saw that her Thane was blushing again. “What does it say?”

Fjori swallowed. “Charred skeever hide (make sure it is thoroughly cooked, as it alters the properties significantly), combined with mudcrab chitin (one large male or two smaller female) yields a cure disease potion. Hopefully both ingredients are plentiful in your travels, and you don’t contract Ataxia in the process of procuring said ingredients!”

Now it was Lydia’s turn to grin. “Aww, he left you a gift! Poor guy was probably super happy someone was being nice to him after spending all that time with Nurelion.”

Fjori just smiled despite the ribbing. “He gave me the recipe under his master’s nose! Maybe he’s not as wimpy as you make him out to be, huh Lydia?” Then, suddenly, her eyes widened and she smacked her head. “I never said my name!”

“You told Nurelion…”

“But HE doesn’t know my name! Damn it…”

“Oh, so you DO care!”

“Shut up, Lydia, this is serious! He’s gone out of his way to help me and I haven’t even offered it as a courtesy. Would it be weird to go back to the store and tell him?”

“Yes, yes it would. Just wait and tell him when we deliver the Phial.”

“I guess…” Fjori lowered her head sullenly while she rolled the map back up.

“Don’t be so dour, My Thane, we’ll get the Phial tomorrow, deliver it, and hopefully get paid this time. You can tell him your name, and then we can get going to High Hrothgar.”

But Fjori wasn’t really listening. She was wondering if he would forget her by tomorrow. Maybe she’d just imagined the way he seemed to focus his attention on her? It wasn’t as if she was an overly attractive woman, pretty plain in fact. The grime of her adventure and the spider webs in her hair hardly made a decent first impression either. No, he was probably just staring at her because she looked ridiculous. If she took off the armor and came in a dress looking presentable, surely he wouldn’t remember her. Why did that thought bother her so when she couldn’t even visualize his face?

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

As soon as the colorful pair left the shop a good half-hour from when they’d entered, Quintus went to work cleaning the alchemy station with distilled water, a typical task for an apprentice. The talkative woman had certainly left it a mess with all of her failed experiments. Nurelion seemed invigorated despite his coughing fit earlier, clearly due to the prospect of someone finding his White Phial, and was poring over manuscripts for the twentieth time from his place at the corner table. By all accounts, this should have been a typical Morndas. But something was off. Quintus couldn’t stop thinking about the strange customer as he scrubbed at the residue she’d left behind. He wondered if she had found his note on the map yet. And he wondered…

“What was her name? Did she ever say?” Despite his outburst, he focused on the task at hand without diverting his gaze.

Nurelion, however, looked up from his work and stared at him. “Fjori. Like that old Nord legend. Why do you ask?”

“Just…wondering…” he attempted lamely, dipping the rag in the water again and wringing out the excess. “I mean, we did hire her, so…”

“She really got you flustered, boy,” Nurelion observed grouchily. “I’d thought you immune to the charms of women. Normally even the sultry tavern wenches that show up to buy snowberries and honeycombs don’t throw you. I suppose you thought that eccentric Nord lass was CUTE with all her ramblings.” The way he said it made Quintus believe his Master had felt the complete opposite.

She was no fair lady, that was for certain. What a mess she had been, and so careless in her alchemy! Such traits should repel him given his own tidy, methodical nature. With no conceivable reason for him to show interest in someone who seemed to contrast him on all levels, why in Aethereus couldn’t he get her off of his mind? 

“She was kind,” he finally decided, swallowing hard. That’s what it came down to though. Even if she needed a good washing and couldn’t brew a potion to save her life at the current moment, her warmth had drawn him in. Not only that, but she’d stood up for him, defended him against Nurelion! Not that he was going to mention that detail at this particular moment… He couldn’t think of anyone who had made him feel that important since he’d left Cyrodiil.

Now Nurelion set down the book with a thud loud enough to make his apprentice jump. “You gave her a recipe, didn’t you, boy?”

Quintus had no poker face to speak of, so he knew there was no use denying the accusation. He hung his head as he admitted “Yes sir. On the map. But sir…” He looked up, finally wearing an expression that challenged the Altmer. “She might need it if she’s going to get you that Phial. Draugr are rife with gangrene, and you didn’t exactly give her a good deal at all on those potions or with her spider silk.”

He braced himself for another lecture about how he didn’t know his place, how he was a useless assistant, but it didn’t come. Instead, Nurelion sighed wearily. “Quintus, I could see you flinching as we did business. You knew, you were counting, weren’t you?”

“Yes, sir. Current market prices would have put those spider silk threads at at least fifteen septims per strand. You gave her a whole 20% less than she should have gotten!”

“And she didn’t barter, so whose fault is that?”

“Well, it seemed like you took advantage of the fact that she didn’t know what she was doing,” he shifted uncomfortably.

Again, the old man sighed. “This is one of the things you need to learn yet, Quintus. We run a business. If you want to come out on top you need to be more aggressive. You are still too nice for your own good. If a customer is willing to give you more for something than it is worth, you sell it for that price; that is just how business goes. I’m afraid you’ll end up giving the store away to charity the way things are now.”

That reminded the young man of another thing. Summoning the last of his nerve, he asked “Was it true what you said about leaving the store to me?”

Nurelion snorted. “Heard that, did you?” But Quintus didn’t flinch, peering at him intently, waiting for a response. His mentor finally huffed. “Well, who else would I leave it to? I haven’t exactly got any family or heirs or anything. And you could handle it, if you could just buckle down. Boy, you have all the intelligence. Half the time I can’t pry you from your books to do your chores around the shop! But all that talent will be meaningless because you haven’t got any business sense, nor have you got a backbone. The fact that you gave away that recipe only proves me point!”

The offhanded compliments made the young man’s head spin. Funny how Nurelion could only offer such encouraging words in the middle of a scolding. Still, he had a point to make. “Master, with all due respect, she is going out of her way to help us. I do not feel bad giving away that information free of charge, and I will not apologize for it.” Quintus dropped the rag on the table and folded his arms, frowning.

Slowly, a smile played at the corners of the old man’s lips. “Perhaps this will teach you a thing or two after all.” Then he cleared his throat. “Now, don’t you have some cataloguing to finish, boy?”

Quintus was surprised at his lack of reaction to his defiance, but quickly nodded in agreement. Earlier this morning he’d repeated the names of ingredients as he took stock of them, blissful in the task at hand, but now as he retreated to the storage room which had practically become his domain, he muttered her name under his breath instead. He’d say a prayer to the Divines for her safe return. And maybe, just maybe if they felt so inclined, they’d let her still remember him by the time she got back.


	2. Cracked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjori returns the White Phial and we all know how well that goes down...

“You know, Nurelion could have warned us that Curalmil was not just an alchemist, but a WARRIOR,” Fjori grumbled, panting and glaring at the lifeless corpse on the ground before her. A minute ago, it had not been so lifeless, reanimated after who knew how many centuries to defend his tomb. The battle had been hard-fought, and while it was not Fjori’s typical policy to take things from the bodies of her dead forebears, she grabbed the great man’s frost-enchanted war axe, lying several feet away thanks to a vicious killing blow on her part, and fastened it to her belt; a legendary foe like Curalmil deserved to offer up a trophy for the victor. “If I’m being honest, I expected maybe a few strong bodyguards, and perhaps the man himself who would go down in one blow. I guess they don’t make alchemists like they used to.” Thinking of Nurelion or Quintus trying to defend their tomb as draugr triggered an amused chuckle. Nurelion would reanimate all right, but he’d probably just stand there yelling in the incomprehensible language of the undead with an accusing finger pointed at the culprit. No doubt Quintus would just stay tucked away in his sarcophagus so as not to raise a scene. Maybe it was just because they weren’t Nords?

Lydia didn’t respond. She was too busy draining a cure disease potion, and Fjori quickly joined suite. After their scare at Bleak Falls Barrow, they’d learned to be more cautious to avoid the health-draining gangrene, attacking the draugr from a distance with bows and arrows whenever possible and even taking preemptive measures to incapacitate them before they reanimated. Still, a whole horde had risen to join Curalmil in battle, forcing hand-to-hand combat against rusted weapons.

As soon as Fjori downed the potion, she closely inspected the room for the first time. During battle, all that mattered was the terrain and the placement of enemies. Now she had the luxury of curiosity. “Well, if we are going to take his life’s work, I feel better having bested him in combat. Just sneaking in and out and running away would be cowardly and dishonorable. I hope he rests content in Sovngarde.” She took a few steps further into the chamber, only to grunt in discomfort and clutch her head. There had been a mild pounding before, but she’d expected the potion to clear it up, not for it to worsen. “Uff, Lydia, do you still have your headache?”

The housecarl looked puzzled as she tucked the bottle back into her pack. “I never had a headache, My Thane.”

“But you were infected the same as me…” To Lydia, it sounded almost as if the young woman was whining now as she continued to hold her head.

“What makes you think it was the gangrene?”

“Because this is exactly what happened in Bleak Falls Barrow when I got so sick.” Fjori huffed in annoyance. “I’ll live, I just don’t understand what’s wrong.”

“Maybe that Quintus has got a cure for headaches too,” Lydia smirked. It was wrong to tease her master at a time like this, but when such a tempting opportunity presented itself…

“Shut it, Lydia!” Spinning around to avoid the warrior’s smug satisfaction at the well-placed jab, she moved towards the ramp to an upper balcony. As Lydia followed, she saw her Thane recoil. “It’s getting worse…”

“Because you took a few steps in this direction?” Lydia’s good humor was rapidly fading, replaced with confusion and concern. Despite how she came across, it was not like Fjori to complain about pain.

“It’s like…something is causing it. Something in this room…” She forced her eyes open and slowly scanned the area. When she looked up the ramp towards a huge stone wall covered in cryptic etchings, her surroundings seemed to fade to black. Just like Bleak Falls Barrow. Fjori approached the monolith slowly, like a moth drawn to a flame. The pounding in her head had somewhere along the line morphed into a rhythmic chant. Certain letters on the wall seemed to glow as her ears filled with a crackling sound, like fire as it consumed dry wood. Finally, when she stood directly before it, the letters of the foreign language seemed to sear themselves into her brain, resolving the tension in an instant. She could pronounce the word, KRII, but what it meant, she had no idea.

“My Thane, are you all right?” Lydia called up worriedly.

Fjori staggered back slightly. “I’m better now. Maybe this is part of being…Dragonborn.” Using that name still seemed foreign and wrong on her tongue, the title of the glorious legend she’d heard tales about growing up and not some backwater hired muscle like her. Jarl Balgruuf and all the guards that fought at the watchtower believed it readily, urged her to visit the Greybeards because they must have been calling to her, but she was not as easily convinced. “The wall gave me a word.”

“Gave you a word? In that language no one can understand?”

“Look, I don’t know how to explain it. None of this makes any sense!” Now she was stomping back down the ramp, frustration evident on her face. “Can we just get that phial and get out of here?”

“I’m sure the Greybeards will be able to explain it once we get to High Hrothgar,” Lydia attempted, reaching out to reassure her master. Fjori just brushed by her, focused ahead. Focused on something she did understand: rescuing artifacts. That was her life, not weird glowing words in some dragon language that only she could comprehend, and even then not entirely.

A few seconds later, she was pouring Nurelion’s secret mixture into a basin tucked in the very back. By some unknown magic, it triggered a stone door to slide open, revealing the prize sitting atop an ornately carved pedestal. On either side of the hidden chamber were tables and shelves of alchemical ingredients, and even an alchemy station. There was no denying whose tomb this was. If she didn’t make it a habit to show reverence to the dead, she would have snatched up all the ingredients in sight and started throwing them together to see what would happen.

Instead, Fjori strode purposefully to the pedestal, checked carefully for any trap triggers, and carefully plucked the White Phial from its resting place. “I sure hope this is the one Nurelion was thinking of. With this kind of security, it would have to be, right?” But when she examined it more closely, her face broke into horror. “Shit!”

“What is it, my Thane?” Lydia demanded anxiously as she hurried to her side.

“The Phial, it’s…got a huge crack in it…” Fjori groaned loudly. “Nurelion is going to be pissed!”

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

They did not attempt to return to Windhelm once they emerged from the cave; it was so late by then that the evening stars were already making their appearance in the rapidly darkening sky. They decided instead to hike to the nearby Nightgate Inn to pass the night. Not that Fjori could sleep. True, she hadn’t been a mercenary for more than a few years, but never had she failed a job. All she could think of was Nurelion throwing bottles at her, maybe even ones containing deadly poisons… She’d seen how intense he could be, and the damaged artifact in her pack was his entire life’s ambition. And forget about being paid! They’d be back to square one all over again if they survived the encounter with the elderly alchemist, and Lydia would never let her hear the end of it.

Early in the morning, they set off for Windhelm at a brisk pace, arriving by noon despite the odd wolf attacks along the road. That left her standing before the White Phial, working up the courage to open the door, even as people in the marketplace bustled about around her.

“He can’t be that mad, My Thane. Just get it over with. Then we can be on our way.”

“I know, I know, it’s not like it is my fault or anything,” she muttered. It may be the truth, but that wasn’t going to make this any easier. Deeply, she exhaled. “Fine, let’s go. Just remember, you promised to be my shield…”

When she opened the door, she was first relieved to notice there were no other customers. Nurelion had his back turned, organizing something on the shelves behind the counter, but he had heard the small bell ding. “One moment…” She silently moved up to the counter, pulling off her pack and digging through it to grab the Phial. Then she allowed her eyes to wander in search of the apprentice. He was nowhere to be seen. Probably working in the back again. All the better in case things went sour.

After a couple dozen moments, Nurelion finally turned around to address the customers. She noted immediately how instant recognition registered on his face. “You’ve returned! So, did you find it? Do you have it?”

“Yeah, it was just as you said. Potion opened the secret door and everything. Not to mention old Curalmil waking up to greet us…”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Hand it over!” He held out his withered hands expectantly, like an impatient child waiting for a promised treat.

“R-right. Here.” Fjori handed over the bundle wrapped carefully in rags. The last thing she wanted was for Nurelion to think she had been careless with the relic.

The old man tore away the rags eagerly, and when he saw what the bundle contained, his joy was palpable. “This matches every description found in lore!” But as soon as he held it up to the light to study it better, the crack became glaringly obvious. If Fjori had been horrified, Nurelion was downright devastated. “What did you do?!”

“It was like that when I found it, I swear,” she pleaded. “Surely it can be repaired, right?”

His voice was strained as he spoke. “No one knows how it was created, nor could replicate it. Accordingly, there is no known way to fix it, and so it will never hold liquid. If it can’t hold liquid, we will never know if this truly is the White Phial. And that is the end of that.” He slammed the Phial down on the counter so hard she thought for sure it would shatter, but it was apparently made of sturdier stuff than that. The thought crossed her mind that if such an action didn’t cause so much as a scratch, what force COULD have been great enough to crack the thing? And to think she’d been so careful…

The same thought must have come over Nurelion. “Eh, I doubt you could have damaged the Phial even if you tried. Here, for your troubles.” Finally, Fjori felt a sense of relief, but it was short lived as Nurelion fairly tossed five septims at her and began to head for the stairs. “Excuse me, but I’m not in the mood for company at the moment.” The old Altmer trudged upwards, audibly wheezing all the way. That just left Fjori and Lydia standing at the counter in shock.

“I mean…I guess I’m glad he didn’t throw anything at me,” she attempted, but her sagging shoulders revealed her discouragement.

“Except for five septims. You know, for risking life and limb.” Lydia’s thinly disguised disgust was given away by her agitated gesturing, but Fjori didn’t even notice how Nurelion had gotten under her skin. She was too busy grabbing her few coins, shuffling to the alchemy station, and pulling out ingredients. The housecarl quirked her head in confusion. “Now what, My Thane?”

“I don’t know.” Fjori reached for the ever-abundant snowberries once more. “I guess I’ll thin the stock first so we can travel light. Maybe we’ll get lucky and make a few things that will sell. Do me a favor, can you check what we haven’t tried snowberries with yet?”

Lydia was frustrated, but when she saw Fjori’s tired eyes, she did her best to rein it in. She didn’t understand it, but apparently this was calming for her boss, so what could she say? “Of course.”

What neither woman realized was that since Nurelion’s first exclamation, Quintus had been silently watching everything from around the corner in the back room, never quite sure when it would be appropriate to involve himself. He’d felt the same rush of excitement when she’d shown the Phial to Nurelion, and the same sharp disappointment as its flaws were revealed. To add insult to injury, Nurelion’s reaction and treatment of his hired mercenary made him feel intense shame. He could see even from his vantage point the way Fjori was defeated despite the amazing feat she had accomplished in braving the tomb. The woman had been nothing but helpful, and this was her reward for her troubles? All of it was wrong, but what could he, the lowly apprentice, do about it?

Well, there was one thing. It wasn’t a decision to make lightly, but he couldn’t ignore this injustice with a clear conscience, nor did he wish to see that friendly copper-haired warrior…Fjori… looking so despondent. He turned away from the scene before him and hurried towards his bed in the furthest corner of the storage room. Then he got down on his knees to pull out a small wooden box from underneath, opened it, and counted out 500 septims. Was it a fair amount? Well, cutting his savings in half was about all he could afford, and practically anything would be better than the insulting quantity she’d been given. With one final surge of determination, he clutched the coins in his hand and slid the box back under. This was crazy, but he was going to do it anyhow.

Upon entering the main room, he observed Fjori’s latest snowberry concoction emitting that tell-tale black poof of smoke as it failed again. “You use a lot of snowberries.”

Both Fjori and Lydia jumped, startled by the sudden voice appearing from nowhere, as mild as it was. Fjori in particular was flustered to see who the voice belonged to. “Oh, well, I have a ton of them, especially after our last trip. And, well, I like using them to test new ingredients because they offer resistances to all the elements, so they reveal characteristics of a lot of different ingredients.” She looked down at her most recent failure. “I just wish I could figure out the last property of snowberries, but I still haven’t had any luck…”

“So there IS a method to your madness,” he commented with a hint of surprise.

Fjori kept her eyes turned away. “I know Nurelion thinks I’m an idiot, but I’m trying my hardest to figure it out.”

During the entirety of their prior meeting, this woman had given off the impression that she was unbothered by anything. She had actually been paying attention to the digs? They’d actually rattled her? Now Quintus felt horrible for his previous comment.

“Can I see what you’ve got?” He could not believe he had the courage to make such a demand, but Fjori seemed to think nothing of it, offering her satchel quickly. The alchemist secretly shoved the coins in his pocket before peering inside, picking through various items. “Hmm… You have collected a lot of different ingredients…”

While he was busy rummaging, Fjori finally took the opportunity to risk a good look at him. She hadn’t forgotten for a second how frustrating it was not to recall what he looked like, and intended to make a careful study of him the second time around. A furry hat covered most of his head, but prominent sideburns crept down the sides of his face. They were a rich red, much better than her own rusty-colored hair, and in the brief instant she looked at the exposed patch of skin near the collar of his tunic, she saw the same-colored hair dusting his chest. Almost as soon as she caught herself looking there, she tore her gaze away out of modest respect. Okay, this wasn’t really helping her remember the important stuff…

At last he withdrew a Morpho butterfly wing from her collection, interrupting her observations. “You should give this a try.”

The typically brash mercenary couldn’t find the right words for the situation, so she just nodded mutely and took the wing from him. In the instant she touched his hand, she noticed how despite his apparent youth, his hands were rough and weathered. Constant alchemy must be hard on them. Meanwhile, she found it was hard to keep her own hands steady; with him watching, scrutinizing her lackluster technique, the whole experience was made unnerving. When she finally mixed them together, the result turned a deep red. “It worked!” Then, she thought about her words a bit more. “I mean, not that I doubted it would. But what does it do?”

Quintus looked at her thoughtfully, and noticed the enchanted axe she wore at her waist. “Drink it, then take a closer look at your axe.” Fjori nodded and took a sip as he requested. She found that she enjoyed this particular concoction. It retained much of its snowberry flavor, so it was easy to forget it also had butterfly wings involved…. Then, she pulled the weapon from her belt and studied it carefully. “Notice anything out of the ordinary?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “It’s like…I can see the type of enchantment etched onto it. Like a rune or something! I’ve never seen it before!”

“It’s fortify enchanting. We don’t sell a lot of this to the general population, but the mages up at the college buy it in bulk. Soul gems are hard to come by, and they want to make their enchantments as efficient as possible. The better the quality of the potion, the more details of the enchantment you will see, and the more powerful it will become.” He took a breath after his long exposition, only to notice the curious gaze of Fjori and the glazed over expression of Lydia. Oh, he’d rambled on too much about academics… He clasped his hands together, running his thumb across his knuckles. “I mean, well, now you know all four properties. I hope that helped.” The Imperial was unsure how to continue to the part he really wanted to get to.

“You make a good teacher!” she complimented brightly, causing his stomach to turn in the best way possible. “Unlike a certain someone…” She trailed off, letting him read her mind by following her gaze up the stairs.

Quintus sighed, the jolt of happiness fading as quickly as it had come. “I know my master can be a bit short tempered at times, but I’ve learned so much from him! Still, that doesn’t excuse him for today. Look, I…” He inhaled deeply to calm his sudden nerves and reached into his pocket for the money. He held it out to her while training his eyes on the floorboards. “I think you deserve this for your efforts. Please, take it as payment.”

Fjori’s eyes popped at the quantity in his hands. “Tell me this isn’t yours!”

“That doesn’t matter,” he insisted, setting his jaw stubbornly and raising his head. “You did something dangerous for us, something that could help us improve our craft. And maybe Nurelion has given up, but I haven’t.” Those words came out before he’d had a chance to consider them, but once they’d escaped he knew it was the truth. The cracked Phial could still offer answers if he continued his research, and he would. Even if Nurelion kept him busy all day, he’d stay up all night trying to understand that legendary artifact, crack and all. Her mission was not for nothing.

“I understand you have noble intentions,” Lydia interjected abruptly, “but we cannot afford charity right now, and you know that.”

Fjori was silent for a moment, then slowly moved to accept the money. “There is an important mission I’ve been given. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’m sure you don’t particularly care what a mercenary like me does, but she’s right, I need this money. But I will pay you back someday, I promise.”

“I suppose it’s top secret?” She nodded, resulting in a shrug for his part. “Ah well, that’s how it goes for a mercenary I guess. But, don’t worry about it. It’s not like I’m starving or anything. I can afford to pay you.”

“Thank you.” Again, Lydia was taking charge for her balking Thane. “We will not forget your generosity. Now, My Thane, we should get the rest of our preparations ready for our journey while there’s still enough daylight.”

Quintus had missed it the first time she’d used the title, being so caught up in his thoughts, but this time he heard it clearly. His eyes widened in shock. “Thane?!”

Fjori panicked too. “Not really. I mean, it’s a long story, and…”

“I’m her housecarl, that’s all that matters,” Lydia concluded, grabbing her by the arm. “I’m sure we will be seeing you again. Thank you for all your assistance, including that recipe.” Dragging her charge, she reached for the door.

“Lydia, wait! I didn’t even say my name!” Fjori complained, flailing uselessly.

“Fjori,” Quintus supplied with a smile. It was the first time she’d seen him with one of those on his face, and it made her feel warm. Suddenly, she knew she’d be able to remember that face without a doubt.

“And you’re Quintus. Nice to meet you, but isn’t this a bit backwards?” The last thing she saw of him was another shrug, and the unwavering smile before the door to the shop closed behind them.

Now safely out of earshot, she punched Lydia uselessly against her steel armor. “What was that for?! We were finally making some small talk, and…”

“It was getting weird, so I helped you get out while saving face. You’re welcome.”

Fjori paused to consider this. Lydia may have actually had a point. “Fine. But as soon as we meet those Greybeards and figure out this whole Dragonborn thing, we will come back. I mean, Captain Kjar had that job for us, and I’m sure it will require some more potions…”

“Are you going to just admit you have a crush on that apprentice alchemist?”

The pause was long, and finally Lydia started to head to the market. Once she was a few feet away, she heard a mutter from behind her. “I may have a tiny crush on Quintusshutup!”

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Nurelion remained upstairs, leaving Quintus free reign of the shop and no interruptions to his ponderings. An hour and several customers later, he was still trying to wrap his head around the idea that Fjori was Skyrim’s version of nobility. Tapping his pencil rhythmically as he reviewed the month’s expenditures, he was getting nowhere. Instead he was trying to imagine what Fjori might look like if she wore the fine fur robes, leather boots, and gold and silver jewelry he’d seen on Tova Shatter-Shield. Anything that came to mind just seemed wrong.

He was no expert on the subject, but after living in Windhelm for seven years, he’d figured out that the title of Thane was bestowed by the Jarl, not inherited. That much made sense at least; Fjori had probably earned it doing some particularly heroic feat for a Jarl. Did having the title not mean you were set for life then? She seemed awfully broke to be nobility, and he couldn’t imagine why she’d feel the need to keep risking her life if she had the security of a title. And also, wouldn’t she stay within the hold where she was nobility? She certainly wasn’t from Windhelm. It seemed as if the rulers gave people a pat on the back and a bodyguard for doing good work. These Nord customs were so confusing!

Nurelion’s sudden violent fit of coughing jolted him out of his thoughts. It sounded even worse than usual, leaving him gasping for air. He wasn’t supposed to need the tonic until sundown, but it certainly didn’t sound like it could wait. Perhaps the disease was progressing… Knowing the old man would never take it if he didn’t provide it to him, Quintus set down his current project and dug out the large vial from its place beneath the counter. As he climbed the stairs with it, he wished such a brilliant alchemist would understand that even though the concoction would not cure him or prolong his life, it would ease his pain.

“Let me guess…you want me to take that damn tonic.” Nurelion was hunched over on his chair in front of the fireplace, looking more weathered than Quintus had ever seen. Even with the fire blazing he was wrapped in a thick blanket and trembling.

“Yes, master. It will help ease the coughing at the very least.” Quintus stood beside him and held out the container.

“There’s no point.” Nurelion scowled and turned away, burying himself deeper in the blanket. “I wish it would just kill me already and be done! There’s no real reason to keep on living…” Honestly, Quintus thought he appeared like a petulant child who couldn’t have that last sweetroll. Sure, his life’s work hit a huge set-back, but it looked like the Altmer was wallowing in self-pity now.

“Master, I know this was a disappointment, but we can’t give up! We’ve searched so long for it, and now we finally have what could potentially be the artifact of legend! There is much we can learn from it regardless of its condition!”

“Yes, well, by the time we learn anything I will be dead, so it doesn’t matter.”

Clearly, using the Phial as a reason to continue living was not going to work right now, so Quintus tried a different approach. “Besides, Master, you say I have a lot to learn. If you die now, I won’t be ready to…”

A bitter scoff interrupted him. “You’ll never be ready, and there’s nothing I can do about that either.” His words were not spoken loudly, but their acidity made the apprentice’s stomach turn regardless. “I know what you did, you foolish, weak-willed child. You paid that mercenary woman with your own money because you felt bad. A substantial amount, too! I could hear it all. You’ve been saving for years so you’d have enough to visit your parents in Cyrodiil, and in just one moment you’ve lost half of all you had on account of a cute girl. Even after we’d talked about this!”

For once, Quintus went pale instead of red. “Master, listen to me, she-”

“Don’t ‘master’ me. I taught you to be smarter than that, stronger than that, so if you really thought I was your master you’d have heeded me. I may as well die today if you don’t ever learn your lesson.”

The young man was torn between the urge to scream or cry. In the end, he found that middle ground in a wavering voice. “Maybe I don’t want to learn my lesson.”

“Then get out of my sight!” the old man spat. “I’ve wasted enough time on you. So much wasted potential, it makes me sick…”

Dropping the vial on the table, Quintus spun around and marched back down the stairs, steady so he wouldn’t give away the way his body was shaking. He ground his teeth, giving his all not to break down where Nurelion would hear him and call his tears ‘proving his point’. Past the counter and to the back storeroom where he finally let loose and slammed his fist down on a crate. Because anger would be okay, wouldn’t it? There was nothing weak about being angry.


	3. Spilling Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjori's back to deliver a message, Quintus is a miserable mess, and the Butcher strikes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this got really angsty in this chapter...

The next week and a half felt like limbo. A rift had formed between master and student, and neither side had anything to say about it. Nurelion, for his part, had worsened greatly and become bedridden, a fact Quintus considered a form of spiting him, as if to say he’d lost all hope to go on living. All the same, he silently brought up the tonic and three meals a day, emptied the chamber pot, and continued doing all his other tasks in addition to Nurelion’s in the store. He didn’t speak a word besides what his job called for, nor did he even take the Phial out from its place in the box under the bed, right on top of the halved savings that had started this whole falling out. There was enough to do now that he was trying to carry the weight of two people, and he found himself thankful for it. By remaining overwhelmingly busy, he didn’t have to think about the problem too much.

Despite his best efforts at avoidance, there were still odd moments when he was mindlessly preparing food or sweeping the shop where thoughts plagued him. Mostly, he reminisced about his time as a young student of alchemy back in Cyrodiil. Even as a boy he’d shown great intellectual potential, preferring to study the plants and insects around his home in the Elven Garden District rather than play ball in the alleyways. Instead of having adventures, he could be found at home devouring books many adults wouldn’t even bother to pick up. While boys his age had been more interested in heading to the Arena District to watch fights, he’d take trips to the Arboretum accompanied only by his trusty notebook. He knew his unusual behavior worried his parents, but they’d seen fit to send him away to the university where he could thrive with other like-minded individuals. Even amongst peers with similar interests, he’d been touted as the brightest student in his class, intensely studious and passionate about mastering the craft.

The course of his life took a drastic turn the day Nurelion arrived at the university. Back then, he’d looked much more imposing, the disease not having laid waste to his body yet. Quintus could still remember the sight of him as he strode through the gates, holding himself as if he were the very Emperor. In Quintus’s eyes, he may as well have been. He had a dignified look that came with age, confidence, and the natural height that marked him as an Altmer. Even if he hadn’t known about Nurelion’s exploits (he’d read several treatises written by the man in his spare time), he’d have known intuitively that this elf had vast years of knowledge to offer. To be able to tap into that knowledge…

As it turned out, he was given that chance. Nurelion was traveling from the Summerset Isles to Skyrim for a research project and had stopped at the university to request an able assistant (or, as he came to understand years later, semi-intelligent slave labor). The dean of the university had recommended him without hesitation, summoning the teenager to his side for presentation. He must have been satisfactory to the persnickety old elf, because Nurelion had looked him over with those haughty golden eyes, then told him to take only his most important possessions and follow. Young and easily impressed, he had dropped everything and followed the famed alchemist with stars in his eyes.

Until now, he’d never questioned his decision to pick up and leave Cyrodiil, his family, and everything he knew to study under this celebrated master. He had always accepted that being an apprentice to a great alchemist would be difficult and thankless, but would be worthwhile in the end. The knowledge would more than make up for the pains. Suddenly, for the first time, he began to wonder how things would have been different if he’d declined the offer. Would he have been awarded a prominent position at the university had he stayed behind? Perhaps earned funding to start his own research after graduating at the head of his class? It was useless to think about. Seven years of his life he would never get back, and in the end, what would he have to show for it? Some knowledge, yes, but no real friends, a master who didn’t trust him, and…

Especially at night as he tried to fall asleep, he thought about Fjori’s cheerful voice and carefree air. He saw her with the spiderwebs in her hair as she tried her best to make potions. He saw her with wide gray eyes (or were they green with a hint of blue?) studying his face to read his intentions. Maybe his favorite vision was of Fjori being dragged out of the shop with that goofy grin on her face, as if him saying her name was the best thing she’d heard all day. Her saying his name had certainly been a highlight. But would she come back? Had Nurelion’s insulting behavior scared her away? And apparently she was a thane, a person of great importance in Skyrim, so why would she even spare him a second thought?

It made him feel almost sick when he contemplated it. Since joining Nurelion, he’d been too busy to consider how lonely he actually was, and now that Fjori’s entrance into his life had made the truth painfully evident, he knew his biggest regret was pushing relationships to the side. In that way, this wasn’t the life he’d envisioned for himself all those years ago at all. In that way he was feeling bitter regret.

What kept him going in those days he didn’t know. Probably habit mixed with his sense of duty and a lack of any better ideas.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

“How convenient that Delphine’s dragon mound was so close to Windhelm!” Fjori beamed as she and her loyal housecarl entered the city gates once more.

“It feels like we’ve hardly been gone,” Lydia rolled her eyes.

“It’s been like…ten days! And we’ve been doing so much, I don’t even know how you can say that, Lydia! We hiked to Darkwater Crossing, then on to Ivarstead and High Hrothgar, killed a dragon, learned about the thu’um, got attacked by cultists…and that was only the first four days! Made it all the way to Morthal and Ustengrav and…”

“With all due respect, my Thane, I was there, I remember what we all did. It was just a figure of speech!”

“Oh.” She barely batted an eye before continuing, undaunted. “Well, better than your incessant mocking considering our first stop here in town.”

Lydia gave an exasperated sigh as they turned onto the thoroughfare leading to the marketplace. “Let me guess, instead of selling off our extra equipment first to unburden ourselves, you’ll insist on delivering that note from the Darkwater miners to a certain ‘earnest’ alchemist.”

Fjori grinned. “You got it! Hopefully that grumpy old elf has mellowed a bit since last time.”

“You say that so optimistically, as if he didn’t hurt your feelings last time.”

“Eh, things worked out in the end, didn’t they?”

“Only because Quintus felt sorry for you and gave you his hard-earned money.”

The Dragonborn mellowed a bit at that memory. “Yeah. It would have been a really crappy day if he wouldn’t have done that. But he did, and now I’ll pay him back.” She didn’t find it prudent to mention that because of how Nurelion had reacted, she had gotten a chance to get to know Quintus better, which was probably the real victory.

“Pay him back with what? You just purchased a house in Whiterun to stash your stuff and house that orphan you found begging in the park! While your kindness is most admirable, you don’t exactly have the money to spare at this point.”

Fjori paused for a moment, considering this fact. Finally she shrugged. “I suppose you are right. We’ll just have to come back another time then! What a shame.” The smile returned to her face and she continued her quick pace in the direction of the White Phial. Clearly, nothing was going to ruin her bright mood, not even all these dour-looking people speaking in hushed whispers that…

“Wait, my Thane.” Lydia grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the side of the street.

“What’s wrong?”

“Look around. Something’s not right.” At her urging, both women scanned the marketplace. It didn’t take much perception to realize the air was tense. The typically boisterous area had been muted, reduced to dull mutters as customers huddled in small groups. People’s eyes darted around nervously. They reminded Fjori of spooked deer keeping watch for hidden wolves, bracing themselves for an attack from the undergrowth after smelling the danger in the air. More than one person turned their gaze past the alchemy shop where a pair of armed city guards kept vigil, blocking the path down to the Temple of Arkay.

“We weren’t even gone that long, but it would seem we’ve missed something big and rather unfortunate,” Fjori muttered. “Someone died, you think?”

“And not in a natural way, I’m guessing,” Lydia frowned. “We need to be on our guard.”

“I won’t even argue with you. Maybe Quintus knows what’s going on.” The pair resumed their trek to the shop, continuing to keep their eyes peeled and ears open.

“You really think he’ll know? I don’t get the feeling he gets out very much.”

“He runs a shop! I bet he hears everyone’s gossip whether he wants to or not! Besides, he’s got to…”

“Shh!” Lydia hissed, cutting off her Thane just in time to hear a nearby solitary woman bemoan ‘another one’. And as they passed the smith, a pair of men murmured sullenly about ‘Susana up at Candlehearth’. That name seemed vaguely familiar to Fjori. Wasn’t that the open-minded young tavern girl who had served her during her last stay? Unlike so many in the city, she had questioned the prejudice against the Dunmer in the Grey Quarter, even advocated visiting their corner club for a good drink. A flare of pain knotted in her stomach at the memory. Swallowing down the anxiety, Fjori stood before the White Phial’s door and pushed it open without any of last time’s hesitation.

Much to her surprise, it was not Nurelion at work behind the counter, but Quintus himself looking up from his accounting upon hearing the ding of the bell. His eyes widened in surprise, identifying the pair in an instant, but Fjori was taken aback by his own appearance. It was his eyes, she decided. She hadn’t ever risked a long look at them before, but she was fairly certain he hadn’t had those dark circles under them, and those green orbs hadn’t been so dull and lifeless ten days ago. The energy seemed to be drained from him, shoulders sagging as if weighed down. It was a stark contrast to the way he had been scurrying around doing his chores earlier! Also, her parting memory of him had been with a warm smile on his face; now he wore a tired frown. What the hell had happened since she’d taken her leave?

“You’re back!” he stared in disbelief.

“Are you okay?” she asked at the exact same moment.

Lydia stepped in the resulting awkward silence. “We have a delivery for you from Darkwater Crossing. You have the letter, right my Thane?” Clearly, she wasn’t going to mess around with Fjori’s titles after the revelation last time, if nothing else reinforcing the idea for the alchemist. He, however, was too distracted by the sight of Fjori to even listen to the housecarl.

“Yeah. The miners out there need some potions to help with the ore dust. Interestingly enough, they gave me your name, not Nurelion’s. Said you were the one that bought the dragontongue and jazbay grapes that they collect and bring to the city every once in a while. I have the request with me, but…” she removed her bag to dig out the letter, “seriously, are you okay? Does this have something to do with everyone else in town?”

“What do you mean, ‘everyone else in town’?” Quintus squinted. Admittedly, he hadn’t been paying very much attention lately. He hoped it wasn’t something very obvious that he should know… 

Fjori paused her task, focusing on the man before her. “When we got here, everything was so somber, but kept real hush-hush. We heard something about ‘another one’ and ‘Susana’…”

Now Quintus’s face blanched. “Gods, not again…”

“Again? Wait, was she killed? Has this happened before?”

The young man just shook his head, dazed. “I haven’t talked to anyone yet today, so I haven’t heard about this Susana. But I can tell you that there has been someone we call the Butcher on the loose. He’s killed two other young women already.”

“How do they know the deaths were connected?” Lydia wondered.

“He’s called the Butcher for a reason. Both bodies were…rather mutilated. Nothing was stolen from them either.”

“Friga Shatter-Shield…” Fjori breathed in horror. “Is that what happened to her? When I met Tobjorn he mentioned something about losing a daughter unexpectedly…”

Quintus nodded gravely. “Yeah. It’s no wonder her family is so torn up. It’s one thing to lose your daughter or sister, but to lose them in such a sinister way… And now there’s a third?”

“It would seems so. But don’t they have any leads yet?” Lydia folded her arms and frowned. “This Butcher seems like a real menace. And attacking the daughter of one of the city’s most respected clans!”

“Two, actually. The other victim was a Cruel-Sea.” The young man sighed heavily. “They’re too busy with the war effort. That’s what they tell you any time they are asked. Believe me, Viola Giordano has made it very clear that something needs to be done, but it gets brushed off due to lack of personnel.”

When Lydia’s eyes darted to her master, she noted the increasingly familiar glint of resolution in her gaze. However, this time she couldn’t hardly fault her for wanting to get involved. “We will keep that in mind. Thank you for the tip.”

“Yeah. But if that wasn’t the reason you look so down, then why…” FJori looked around again, and suddenly it occurred to her. “Is Nurelion okay? Shouldn’t he be out here?”

Quintus had hoped she’d forget her original question, but apparently once she got something on her mind there was no stopping her. Still, it felt good that she’d been paying attention to him, so he could hardly be vexed. “Nurelion has taken a turn for the worse, I’m afraid. He now spends most of his days I bed.” He nearly added the detail about everything deteriorating right after her last visit, but thought better of it. Fjori didn’t need to feel any guilt about this. She probably would if he was reading her correctly.

“I’m so sorry, Quintus,” she said quietly. “And you’ve been taking care of everything all by yourself, haven’t you?”

“That’s what an apprentice does.” He couldn’t keep all the sourness from his tone.

“That doesn’t make it easy, especially not when it goes unnoticed. I…” She paused, wondering if she should admit what she was thinking, if it was even in her place to say. But when she saw just how exhausted he looked, she couldn’t help herself. “I wish there was something I could do to help.”

Finally, his frown broke, albeit slightly. “You’ve already done so much.”

“You did bring him a letter,” Lydia reminded pointedly.

“Oh, right. Here, let me get that…” Finally, the mercenary pulled the letter from her bag and set it on the counter. When Quintus moved to find a tip for delivery, she quickly protested. “I owe you, so don’t even think about giving me anything. I was nearby anyhow.”

He could have argued, but honestly, he didn’t have the energy for it. “All right. I’ll make sure this order gets filled. Thank you for bringing it to me.” His hands grasping the paper from hers held no magic, not this time. It was his spark that was gone, she finally realized. He could be tired, but that wouldn’t explain the vibe she was getting from him. There were so many things she wanted to ask him, but didn’t wish to in front of Lydia, and she didn’t know if those questions would be appropriate for whatever relationship this was.

Before the resulting silence became too unbearable, Lydia cleared her throat. “I suppose you will want to mix up some ingredients before we leave?”

Fjori just shook her head. “No. We’ve got work to do, and it can’t wait. Let’s go.”

As she turned for the door, Quintus spoke with a sudden urgency. “Are you staying in Windhelm?”

The young woman looked back at him curiously. “Yes. Why?”

His mouth suddenly went dry. For one thing, his funk was ruining everything about the fact that Fjori had actually returned so soon, and he was beyond frustrated with himself because of it. Whatever shaky ground they had established was going to crumble because he could not even find it in himself to be sociable or look interested. That, he was not willing to share. The other reason, however, seemed innocent enough. “Please make sure you don’t go out at night. You’re exactly the type of target the Butcher likes.”

A curtain descended over her features. Was she…disappointed by this response? “I’m a mercenary,” she reminded him sharply. “I walk around in a suit of armor. He’d be an idiot to try anything.”

And now it felt as if he’d insulted her somehow. Gods, could this get any worse? “I didn’t mean any insult, I just…” Didn’t want anything to happen to her? Was worried about her safety? “Don’t want him to claim another life.”

She narrowed her eyes, and while it could be at the thought of the Butcher, he had to wonder if it was actually directed at him for his failed attempts to show concern. “He won’t. Because I’ll be the one claiming his.” Fjori spun around in a huff and left the shop, letting the door slam shut behind her. Quintus nearly face-palmed and swore, but realized just in time that Lydia was still present.

“You’ll make sure she’s careful, right?” he requested wearily.

“Mmmm-hmm. And you’ll make sure you keep working on your pick-up lines, right?” She knew she’d gotten him good when a fierce flush blossomed across his cheeks. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll be back before leaving town. Things will be better once everything has settled down around here.” With a dismissive wave, the warrior followed her Thane out the door. That just left Quintus furiously contemplating how much the housecarl saw in his actions, and then just what Fjori had said about him to her follower.

And at that moment, because this depressing comedy of errors was apparently far from over, those wonderings were interrupted by a vicious bout of coughing from upstairs. Right. Tonic time again. In the last week and a half, the frequency of Nurelion’s doses had doubled in relation to his weakened state. Quintus pinched the bridge of his nose and asked the gods to give him strength before reaching for the ever-familiar bottle.

Up the stairs he went, and right to Nurelion’s bedside as he poured out the proper quantity of the deep red liquid into a spoon; the old man was no longer strong enough to take it directly from the bottle. He had to wait for a pause in Nurelion’s hacking before administering the dosage, and then afterwards blotted the stray drops from his beard in a most impersonal manner. Satisfied his job was done, he began to walk away when he heard the old man’s voice rasp. “It was…that mercenary again…wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” was all the answer he gave, determined not to start anything. The plan failed at his next words.

“Wanted more money or…free recipes, I suppose…”

The frustration and resentment Quintus had held within him for the last ten days, festering silently without an outlet, began to finally bubble over. “No. Ran an errand for me and refused payment for her service. Also, was considerate enough to ask me if I was feeling okay because I look and feel like garbage! Not that you’ve ever bothered to notice.”

“Struggling to take care of everything, are you boy? Getting overwhelmed because you can’t keep your distance from the problem? I knew that bleeding heart of yours would be your downfall.” His eyes opened halfway, but even still he managed a condescending glare.

Quintus Navale had always considered himself a man of peace, one to talk things out instead of getting into petty fights. Today, however, everything seemed to go wrong, and something inside him snapped. “Keep my distance from the problem? So you think I should leave you here to rot then? Because the problem is not me, it is YOU! You are a bitter old man who is realizing he built his life around a thing, and now he won’t even have that much to comfort him on his deathbed!”

“Why you brat…” But despite the edge in his tone, Quintus knew he’d hit the nail on the head as even his sickly complexion paled. That should have been enough, but the dam had broken and there was no holding back the flood of words now.

“I gave up everything for you, left behind everyone I knew to follow you to this frozen wasteland and then spent the next seven years trying to be just like you. Well, you know what? I finally realized that I don’t want to be like you! I don’t want to end up alone. I’d rather have a bleeding heart and someone who cares about me than a stone cold heart and a stupid magical Phial. And if being your apprentice means I can’t do nice things for the people around me, then I don’t want to be your apprentice!” Somewhere during that monologue the spoon he’d been holding went flying across the room, not that he gave a damn at the current moment. Afraid of falling apart in front of Nurelion, knowing there would be no stopping the tears this time, he ran from the room and back down the stairs. It felt like he’d just been in this position not that long ago, and in truth he had. This time, though, he didn’t even bother to hide his tumultuous emotions. It was too late for that.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

The New Gnisis Corner Club was a worn out building crammed between several tenements. The only thing that marked it as a tavern was a unique banner out front. Perhaps the Dunmer were trying to liven up the Grey Quarter, which was truly gray upon gray from all the stone. Still, while the banners offered some vibrant color, they were as ragged and run-down as everything else in this part of the city. At first the area was hard to find, but once Fjori realized she had to go in the downwards direction, she followed the narrow alleys, with Lydia having to go behind so as not to take up the entire path. Most of the inhabitants of the Grey Quarter were out working, but the few wandering around gave them looks that were suspicious at best, malicious at worst. The red eyes didn’t help. 

“My Thane, what are we doing here?” Lydia begged, finally sidling up next to Fjori as they stood before the front door. Fjori hadn’t said a word after she stormed away from the scene of the murder. From there, she had marched straight into the heart of the slums to this sketchy establishment.

“Getting a drink,” she growled, pushing open the door. Before Lydia could question this logic, she disappeared inside.

The interior of the Corner Club made the outside look luxurious. Despite the rumors that it was a hopping place at night, tables and chairs were sparse. Noticeable drafts blew the faded and frayed banners that also hung on the inside. There were holes in the walls separating the rooms, and if someone tried to cover the holes in the floorboards with a rug, they couldn’t cover nearly everything. A few lanterns guttered, throwing eerie shadows across the space. If Fjori was being honest with herself, she half expect a skooma dealer to sneak up behind her and offer her some of his wares.

By far the least inviting part of the Corner Club was the proprietor. “We’re closed,” he declared gruffly, standing up at full height behind the bar as if to appear more intimidating.

“I know it’s kind of an unconventional time for a drink, but I really need one. I’ll pay you twice the regular price if you’d serve me,” Fjori offered, sinking into a rickety chair that creaked under her weight. Perhaps these were not built for Nords in full armor…

“A drink in the middle of the morning?” he scoffed, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t you have work to do or something?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m in the middle of a murder investigation. That’s why I need a drink. Badly.”

“The Butcher again?”

She nodded in the affirmative.

“Who cares. If he starts killing the Dunmer, then maybe I will. It’s not like the Nords have ever cared about what happens to us down here.”

“Ambarys!” a new voice hissed. A second Dunmer slid around the corner. Fjori could see even in the dim light the way his eyes appraised the weapon at her waist. “Just serve the woman. It’s really no problem.”

Ambarys folded his arms defiantly. “If she wants a drink, she can head up to Candlehearth Hall. No law in the land says I have to serve her.”

Lydia watched as Fjori began to unfasten her gauntlets and set them on the table, as if declaring her stay. Divines, she was going to cause trouble at this rate! “My Thane, perhaps we should…”

“You know why I came here instead of Candlehearth Hall?” she asked calmly, staring into the flickering flame of the lantern. “A serving girl up there told me that if I wanted a real drink, this was the place to come. She said she couldn’t understand why people have anything against the Dunmer when they don’t even know them. And now, now she is dead. I want a drink, the strongest one you have, one that will burn all the way down. Show me you serve the good stuff like she said. I want to honor her by taking her suggestion at the very least. Hopefully I’ll be able to do one better and kill her murderer too, but this will be a start.” She turned her gaze back to the bartender. “So, what is the strongest alcohol you’ve got? I’ll take a shot of whatever it is.”

There was a pause. “You’d want the Sujamma then,” the newcomer advised, stepping up to the bar. “That will be ten-”

“Twenty,” the one called Ambarys amended quickly. “The woman said she’d pay double the usual.”

“Really Ambarys?”

“He’s right. I’ll pay twenty.” Fjori turned back to Lydia who was still standing uncomfortably in the background. “You want anything?”

“No, my Thane, I think it would be best to retain my wits.”

“Suit yourself.” Fjori turned to the two workers. “Can I get anything for you?”

“No,” the more reserved Dunmer declined politely.

“Yes,” Ambarys challenged. “The same as you. That will be forty septims.” His friend looked mortified, and Lydia wanted to exclaim that her Thane didn’t have the money to be throwing around like this, but Fjori pulled out her purse. “All right then. Here you go.”

Ambarys smirked as he began to pull out the short glasses. His accomplice came to collect the money, still looking very apologetic. “Thank you for your business, Miss.”

“Fjori.” She extended her hand, fully aware that never in her life had she shaken hands with a Dunmer. She knew it was silly, but part of her wondered if his blue-gray skin felt any different.

Turns out it didn’t. “Malthyr. If you need anything else, please let us know.” He stepped aside as Ambarys delivered the glass.

“We’ll see how you handle Sujamma.”

Fjori quirked an eyebrow. “Indeed.” She grasped the glass and raised it, but before she brought it to her lips, she murmured “May you find your way to peace in Aethereus, Susana. I swear I will get your revenge.” Then, she tossed back the drink. Malthyr hadn’t lied; the Sujamma was exactly what she’d needed, and it did indeed burn, same as the anger inside of her after seeing the corpse of the young girl bloodying the snow. When she’d swallowed it down, savoring the sensation, she noticed that Ambarys was watching her intently. “You could light that stuff on fire. Perfect. What about your shot?”

Finally, the aggressive elf seemed to relax somewhat. “Indeed.” She watched as he went back to his bar, took up the glass he’d poured himself, and downed it just as quickly. “It’s a good beverage to pair with anger, I’ve found.”

“Hmm. I hope I don’t need it too often then. Perhaps next time, something for more social occasions.”

“When you catch the bastard, come back and get some Matze,” Malthyr offered.

“You have my thanks. I know this whole thing was a bit unorthodox, so if you ever need anything, let me know. I owe you a debt for helping me out.” Fjori rose. “Until next time.” She nodded respectfully, grabbed her gauntlets, and departed the two very amused Dunmer. Lydia scurried out the door after her after giving her own nod.

She found Fjori leaning against the supports of the building, the chill of the stone not bothering her in the least. She was staring into space, and Lydia couldn’t begin to guess what was on her mind. “Are you okay, my Thane?”

“As a mercenary, I’ve only ever done retrieval jobs. It’s not that I didn’t want to rescue people, I just never wanted that responsibility. There’s so much on the line if you screw up. But I’m the Dragonborn now, you know? I’m going to have to save the entire freaking world at some point, at least that’s what Delphine would have me believe. I suppose I may as well start with finding this Butcher. I just…I’m afraid that if I fail, there will be more Susanas.”

You could have knocked Lydia over with a feather. She had never seen Fjori so sober despite the vicious alcohol she’d just consumed. For the first time since she'd been assigned to her, Fjori's deepest emotions were spilling out. It was, in a strange way, an honor to witness it. She got the feeling few did. “There will be if you do nothing. There is nothing worse you can do than nothing.” She put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get started. We’ll go talk to Jorleif and see what leads he’s got for us.”

“Right. No use fighting the hero gig.”


	4. Precipitate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Quintus sees something he wasn't supposed to, which warrants an explanation. Also, the pair gets to move past clumsy flirting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Precipitate being the chemical term as per the theme, nothing to do with weather.

She stared at the locked door of Hjerim in disbelief, or perhaps more specifically, the trail of crimson that led right up to it, disappearing underneath the door of the towering manor. “Un. Freaking. Believable. There is literally a blood trail leading to this suspicious abandoned house directly from the site of the murder, and the guards don’t even think to check into it? And it’s right in the middle of the high-class living area of the city! Wouldn’t you think those families would notice and put pressure on the city guard to investigate? Honestly, it is beyond me how they can expect to win their civil war while displaying this level of stupidity!”

At last, it was happening. Lydia had been surprised that up until this point Fjori hadn’t snapped despite the strain of the situation. It was as if she’d fallen victim to the same pall that had settled over the city, losing her usual chipper attitude but also never letting her temper flare. It had all started with the whispers about Susana. Then, instead of helping, her visit to the White Phial had seemed to make it even worse. Was it because Quintus had been so down and out that she was brought to the same level? Had his seeming indifference demoralized her that much? Seeing the body firsthand had caused her to run off, but although she’d been upset enough to order the strongest drink at the Corner Club, her tone had been mellow, her epitaph dead serious rather than filled with rage. Her face showed little more than cold focus on the task at hand, one she took on voluntarily even though the cost of failure was high enough to scare even her.

Come to think of it, the ice had probably started to melt during her Thane’s conversation with the guard at the crime scene. Jorleif had sent them there with permission to check into the murder, and when the guards were skeptical, things got terse. Fjori antagonized them into yielding more than convinced them. She could hardly conceal her frustration at their own ineptitude and the uselessness of their so called ‘witnesses’. Now, this. Fjori was finally boiling over, and to be honest, Lydia found it to be a relief, much more like the woman she knew. Perhaps her anxiety was finally taking a backseat to anger.

“It makes me appreciate Commander Caius’s leadership of the Whiterun guard, no matter what anyone says to the contrary,” Lydia finally agreed. “This is incredibly sloppy of them. Even if there is a war on, all it would take is one single man to notice this. Now, the question is, how do we get in?”

Fjori just sighed. “I’d say try to pick the lock, but I’m not that good and this is a really high-quality lock. Better ask those clowns at the Palace of Kings who owns the place and go from there. Of course, if I had my way, I’d just bash down the doors, maybe smash out a window…” Her tone became pinched, as if restraining the anger. “But that would probably be going beyond my allowances as an investigator.”

Lydia reached out to her, and was nearly punched in the face thanks to Fjori’s surprise at the unforeseen movement, not to mention the tension running rampant through her body. “These murders really have you on edge.”

“You’ve seen what the bodies look like in the end,” Fjori glowered before ducking her head. She stared at the blood on the ice, trying to keep the more graphic images from her mind. “What Susana looked like. After meeting her at the inn a few weeks ago, that’s a shock. Disgusting. Even that bat-crazy priestess of Arkay said it looked like someone took ancient Nordic burial tools to them. What horrifying cruelty, and to young women who couldn’t defend themselves…” She felt her fists clenching as the rage was fanned within her. “And these incompetent guards and that incompetent Jarl just pay all their attention on their grab for power while their citizens endure this reign of terror. It’s sickening!”

“I know. Why do you think I haven’t even tried to stop you from getting involved this time?” Lydia paused thoughtfully. “But you were already on edge by the time you left the White Phial, and that was before you knew the details. Was there something else eating at you?”

Now Fjori just looked confused. “No. I mean, it was worrisome seeing Quintus like that, and I was sorry to hear that Nurelion had gotten worse despite how he treated me, but in the scheme of everything that wasn’t a huge deal. I’ll worry about it after we catch the Butcher.”

It was Lydia’s turn to look surprised. “Oh.”

“Why ‘oh’?” Fjori demanded, raising an eyebrow.

“Well…I think Quintus thought you were upset with him…” And, well, maybe she had thought that too, but why bring it up?

“Wait, really? Why do you say that? He didn’t SEEM like he cared all that much. It was kind of…discouraging, to be honest…”

So it DID bother her, at least a little. “After you left, he asked me to keep you out of trouble.”

A fraction of the tension released from her body. “I won’t deny that that makes me feel better, but honestly Lydia, I’m more worried about the murderer on the loose right now, and I was then as well. In fact, we need to get going. Let’s talk to Jorleif about the owner of this house. I’d love to see his reaction when we tell him there was such glaringly obvious evidence leading from the scene of the crime… That other drama can wait.”

At that, Fjori took off in the direction of the palace, forcing Lydia to try and catch up and forgo dwelling on her guilt. The housecarl felt bad that she’d misinterpreted her Thane’s concerns, despite the fact that they’d only known each other for a month and Fjori often hid behind a cheery facade. Reassured that her priorities were in line, she willingly followed wherever the Dragonborn led.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Fjori scrambled through the dimly lit passages of the palace’s living quarters, doing her best to avoid crashing into the patrolling guardsmen while at the same time dodging the protruding hawk statues that cluttered an already tight space. Even on a good day when she wasn’t desperately making a break for the exit the whole area was claustrophobia-inducing. Who the hell had designed this place? With her eyes forward, searching each doorway for the stairway, she didn’t notice the confusion she was causing among the patrol; they’d seen her enter Wuunferth’s quarters with an intense but controlled gait, and now she was running out in a state of frenzy! Despite Ulfric’s confidence in the sorcerer, they did wonder what kind of dark magic he dabbled in. Perhaps this was one of those things? Hands wandered to the hilts of their swords.

“Be right back,” Lydia attempted as she blew by one of the guardsmen. She was in hot pursuit of Fjori, following the trail she blazed. That seemed to be the pattern of the day.

They had spent all afternoon untangling the knot of evidence left in Hjerim: all the flyers Viola had posted torn down and stuffed in a dresser, a bizarre amulet buried amidst the flyers, a hidden room behind a false back panel, and the macabre visage of a ritual altar, replete with body parts and journals describing the methods used. This was not just a random killing spree, but a harvest of tissues and other samples to recreate a specific person! The victims had been chosen for their suitability, the missing pieces of flesh carefully extracted rather than torn out. It explained a lot about the motivation, but still got them no closer to finding the person responsible.

When they’d tried to get more information regarding the amulet, their only lead, the relic collector Calixto had pointed them in Wuunferth’s direction, stating it was traditionally given to the court mage. They were convinced then they’d found the necromantic culprit. Rumors abounded about what kind of magic he practiced. His name was the Unliving. And what did he do with that highly poisonous nightshade Fjori had delivered that one time? Still, Fjori considered herself a Nord of honor; rather than order his arrest, she decided to confront him with Lydia. The accusation came hard and fast, but was just as quickly refuted. One look at the amulet Fjori had been unwilling to sell and Wuunferth had declared it the Necromancer’s amulet. Knowing this dark art was involved, he could determine when the next kill would need to take place. He predicted that very evening.

Now time was running out. Once night fell, another victim might be claimed in the Stone Quarter. Did they trust the old mage, or was he throwing them off the scent? Fjori had reacted on instinct, not willing to gamble with anyone’s life at stake, but even as she ran she pondered her doubts. If they camped in the Stone Quarter and found out the next morning someone had been killed somewhere else…

Suddenly, she hit the brakes near the top of the stairs. Lydia nearly collided into her. “Lydia, I need you to stay here. We don’t know if the sorcerer is telling the truth, and if something happens tonight like he says, someone should watch and make sure he hasn’t left.”

“My Thane, I am sworn to protect you!” Lydia protested, placing her hands defiantly on her hips. “I know you are a capable warrior, but even so…”

“Lydia, that’s an order!” Fjori’s barked words seemed to bounce off the stone walls. This was a tone, no, a command Lydia had never heard since becoming a housecarl, and it stunned her. Fjori seemed to notice, and grimaced. “I don’t like giving orders, you know that, but I will when I must. For the sake of this mission, for the people of this city, please stay here.”

Lydia gave a hard stare at her master before her shoulders dropped in resignation. “I swear, if you let anything happen to yourself…”

“Not a chance. I’ll meet you back here no later than sunrise.” And with that, she was gone, flying down the stairs and out the massive entry doors into the biting winds. It was already dark, with only the slightest hint of red on the horizon to show for the sunset. Holy Arkay, let it not be too late! As she ran, she cursed her insistence on heavy armor at a time like this, her own inadequate stamina as she felt her body tiring from the sprint. Close, so close to the Stone Quarter… What were the odds he’d be ready to strike so soon?

She rounded the corner from the main stretch so she could finally see into the empty marketplace. Well, empty save for two figures. One was a tall woman clutching a bag as she walked across the plaza, the other a medium-sized male whose movements were slinking at best. Her heart plummeted in her chest when she noticed a hand at his waist and his stance lower into a crouch. Damn it all, she’d never make it in time! She couldn’t even scream as she gasped for breath, lungs burning. The flash of metal in the dim light, a knife in his hand! If only there were a way to…

Perhaps it was Akatosh himself that sent her the flash of inspiration she needed. She paused long enough to get a good breath, and in return she produced the shout the Greybeards had taught her up at High Hrothgar. “Wuld!” In barely a second she covered the entire distance of the market. This had of course been very disorienting the first dozen times she had tried this shout, but the mastery had paid off for just this case as she didn’t even miss a beat. Her hand went to her axe in a split-second, and just as the man looked to the side in panic at the noise, just as she realized she was looking into the shocked face of Calixto Corrium himself, the weapon struck home. There was blood, no more so than any other day, she reasoned, but the shrill scream from the would-be victim who had narrowly avoided death made it so much more. So did the knowledge that only a few hours ago this man had given her a tour of his collection and played the part of an innocent man to perfection.

She glared at the carnage for several crawling seconds, the crumpled body dyeing the snow crimson with eyes still open wide in disbelief, then ripped her gaze away to find a guard, someone, anyone to sort out this mess. The terrified Altmer exclaiming to the Eight as she nearly hyperventilated was not helping the situation. Divines, she’d never had to deal with such things as a fetch mercenary! Where the hell were the guards? Of course they were nowhere to be found when they were needed!

Despite their lack of presence, as she frantically scanned the area in search of help, she did find a bystander. Her eyes came to rest upon a shocked young man standing in front of the White Phial who had clearly been in the wrong place at the wrong time and dropped his armful of firewood at the sight of this violence. His jaw hung slack, and his green eyes stared in disbelief as they looked right into hers. Searching for some kind of answer to this phenomena, no doubt. Shit, trying to explain this one would be the end of any hope she had of charming Quintus.

Swallowing thickly, she found the nerve to address him across the empty space. “I need to take her to the authorities. Keep an eye on the body so no one messes with the evidence, okay?” Without waiting for his response, she took the woman by the arm and led her back to the main boulevard, only half listening to her blubbering about near-death. She had enough on her mind.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Fjori must have found help on her way, because it didn’t take long for a half-dozen armored men to burst into the plaza bearing torches and drawn swords. Funny that not one of this zealous contingent had been around when they were needed… Now that the deed was done by someone else, they played the parts of proper investigators, examining Calixto’s body and searching him for evidence. They also turned on him for questioning, as he hadn’t moved from his spot outside the White Phial since she’d given him the command. Lucky him, he was the only witness they had. There wasn’t much to say though. He’d been bringing in a stack of firewood when he’d heard an unusual clattering of metal armor, and by the time he’d turned to look there was a man with an axe in his back and Fjori covered in blood. That admittedly didn’t paint the best picture of her, and he intuitively trusted her decision to kill despite how bad it had looked, so he crafted his words carefully. She’d prevented Corrium from coming at Arivanya, who was walking alone and fit all the characteristics of the usual casualties of the Butcher.

Of course, in his cautious description, he omitted the detail of the fury in her eye, the almost feral quality she took on in the split second before their eyes had met, when she’d glared with contempt at Calixto’s corpse. It was impossible to understand how he’d seen that from such a distance, perhaps it was more of a feeling she radiated if that made any sense at all, but he’d have sworn her eyes had actually flashed like lightning. If he let on for even a second how much like a dangerous predator she’d looked then, it might be impossible to defend her. The image was going to haunt him either way.

He also neglected to mention hearing her shout a word he didn’t understand and somehow speeding across the entire length of the plaza in a split-second. Who would believe that? He wasn’t sure he himself did!

After being dismissed from his brief interview by the disappointed guards, he’d gathered up his firewood and headed back inside. He made sure to latch the bolt of the lock in place as soon as his hands were free. It was late now, definitely time to be heading to bed if he was going to be up at his usual early time in the morning, but how could he sleep at a time like this? To be fair, he tried to turn in for the night despite the way his head spun, banking the fire, extinguishing the lamps, and lying on top of his bed. It didn’t work.

There in the dark, a million and one questions flooded his mind about Fjori and what she’d just done. Had it been some kind of magic? He didn’t think she was a mage the way she relied on health potions and sold all her restore magicka potions… Had his own brain created the illusion due to stress and lack of sleep? And why the hell was it so unsettling seeing the cheerful girl he was rapidly becoming attached to killing a man in cold blood, the crimson spattered across her face the way simple dirt had before? She was a mercenary, and that was what mercenaries did! Apparently he’d just considered her a glorified treasure hunter instead of a killer all this time, and it was suddenly very hard to reconcile these two versions of the Nord.

Quintus was so deep in his thoughts that he jumped when a sharp knocking brought him back to the moment. Someone was at the front door at this time of night? He wasted no time leaping from his bed and hurrying to answer it, not needing light to find his way in the dark after living in the shop for so long. Could it be…?

And it was, the very person he’d wished to see most. When he unlocked the door and threw it open, it was a very uncomfortable-looking Fjori. She’d wiped the blood from her face and armor, he noticed despite the dim light of the street lamps, and her eyes lacked any kind of wrath now. In fact, she seemed positively meek as she fidgeted. Maybe the whole thing had been a dream? “Fjori?”

“I need to talk to you, Quintus. I would have come sooner, but I needed to get back to Lydia and tell her I was okay. She was worried, as you can imagine.” She paused, a look of doubt crossing her face. “I mean, is it all right to talk now? I know it’s late, but…”

“Please! I wanted to talk to you too. Come inside.” He stood back to grant her entrance, then swiftly moved to light a candle. He placed the candle on the table and took a seat once he was certain she had closed the door. How cruelly ironic, he thought dryly, this almost looked like it could be romantic…

Once Fjori had taken a seat opposite him, he asked “Where is Lydia now?”

Fjori studied the flame of the candle. “Still at the Palace of Kings. I think they were going to search Calixto’s house for more evidence before we get to go free for this. I can’t blame them. There’s no proof I didn’t just murder that guy. I mean, you didn’t really see the whole thing, did you?” 

He shook his head. “By the time I knew what was going on, you had pretty much dispatched of him.” When he saw the concern cross her face, he quickly added “But I made sure to tell the guards the least incriminating story possible, don’t worry.”

“You…trusted me? Even though all you saw was my axe planted in his back?” Her voice had gone soft, with a hint of disbelief.

“Well, not just that,” he admitted, rubbing his chin in thought. Perhaps it was foolish to admit to seeing such an impossible thing, but he also knew that if he didn’t ask it would bother him forever. “You closed the distance awfully fast.”

Fjori swallowed. “About that… Well, this was another reason I didn’t want Lydia to come. I mean, she knows what I’m about to tell you, but I didn’t really want her to be here when I told you.”

This confession put some butterflies in his stomach. Apparently they were going to get very serious with this talk… He took a deep breath. “Fjori, what the hell did I see? I mean, I didn’t IMAGINE you using superhuman speed, did I? Maybe I was just tired, out of it…”

“No. I did something that defied normal human limits.” She seemed to weigh her options before settling on her next statement. “Do you remember when I told you I had a secret mission? I had to get somewhere so they could tell me what I needed to do.” He nodded, prompting her to continue. “The truth is…I was called to High Hrothgar.” When the name didn’t seem to register with the Imperial, she tried again. “The monastery at the Throat of the World?”

This he seemed to understand. “You had to try and climb up the tallest mountain in Skyrim?”

“Yeah. Because they summoned me. But, not in the normal way. I don’t suppose two weeks ago or so you heard a shout thunder in the sky on a clear blue day, one that called ‘Dovahkiin?”

It was bizarre. It was simultaneously understandable and illogical where this was going. “Here in Windhelm, we heard the shout from far away. The town was in an uproar, because Ulfric can shout just like that, and they wondered if it was meant for him,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “He ignored it, so apparently he didn’t feel they were referring to him. But you…?”

“Did you hear what I shouted before I sprinted?”

“A word I didn’t recognize,” he responded, tilting his head.

“A word in the language of dragons. The monks up there taught it to me. It means ‘wind’, and when I shout it I can cross great distances in the blink of an eye. While most people can learn this over the course of many years of diligent training, Ulfric being a prime example, I learned it nearly immediately. It is the power of a Dragonborn.”

Dead silence as he blinked slowly. Fjori wondered if she’d broken him with this confession. “Dragonborn? There hasn’t been a Dragonborn since Martin Septim died! In my homeland the Dragonborn emperors were the ones that kept the fires lit at the Temple of the One, kept the covenant with Akatosh which prevented the daedra from entering our world. To be a Dragonborn…” He held his head in his hand as he stared at the table. “And now that you’re the first one in centuries, you’re a once-in-an-era legend! Why, everyone thought we’d seen the end of them, but you…are you truly…?” It seemed simple belief was out, though she’d expected as much; now it was a matter of whether or not he would be able to wrap his brain around the idea. He was an intellectual, after all. Still, she didn’t like the way he wouldn’t look at her, but wrestled internally with his own thoughts.

“I didn’t believe it at first myself,” she replied quietly, drawing his attention back to her. “I’d grown up hearing stories about the old Dragonborns, of Tiber Septim and King Wulfherth, and all kinds of heroes who could use the thu’um, the shout, to battle the enemies of Skyrim. How could I bear that title? I’m just a mercenary from middle-of-nowhere Morthal, the daughter of a mill-owner and a flimsy alchemist.” Finally she gave a bitter laugh. “Even after these last two weeks I still don’t believe it. I don’t like to acknowledge it, but it seems I can’t ignore it, can I? I’m caught up in the middle of something so much bigger and there’s no escaping it. Hell, you kow I just watched a dragon resurrect a dead dragon from a burial mound over near Kynesgrove? And then Lydia and I killed it. And you know what? I devoured its soul, and suddenly I understood that weird dragon writing we found in Curalmil’s tomb, just like that! Now I can shout at people and weaken their armor!” She was rambling by this point, the line between talking to Quintus and talking to herself blurred beyond recognition. “You probably won’t believe me. I wouldn’t believe me. You’ll also probably never want to talk to a freak like me again, but…that’s the truth as far as I know.”

She stood abruptly. “I hope you have a good life, Quintus, I truly do. You’re a nice guy, one of the kindest I’ve ever met, and you deserve it. I won’t bother you anymore with my clumsy attempts at alchemy. Besides, you don’t need someone hanging around who’s got the blood of a monster inside. You shouldn’t be involved in any of that.”

As she turned to leave, she heard his chair slide back just as abruptly, and felt a hand grab her arm. It wasn’t harsh, something she would instinctively fight, but it was insistent all the same. Her pulse hammered in her chest as her eyes widened. She hadn’t dared to hope that he might… “Don’t go Fjori! I want you to bother me all the time!”

“Wait, what?” She spun around with his grip still holding her there, taken aback by just how close he was. Feeling his physical presence was dizzying, and his intent even more-so. She’d also never realized she was a few inches taller than him, and had to look down slightly to see the panic in his eyes. Panic that she was going to walk out that door and never come back? Or was she just seeing what she wanted to see?

Realizing the impropriety of his impulsive response, he released his hold as if she were scalding hot and turned an unhealthy shade of red as his hand reached back to scratch his head awkwardly. “It’s a lot to think about, and it’s hard to fathom, but I believe you. So, don’t run away because you told me the truth. It doesn’t scare me away. I don’t want you to go.” Then, his voice dropped to a whisper. “I’d be miserable if I never saw you again.” There. He’d finally said it aloud. How in Aetherius would she respond to that? For all he knew, she’d only meant what she’d said as a friend…

“But you were so distant this morning. I thought maybe you didn’t…”

Now he had to turn away he was so embarrassed. “Truthfully, I thought about you a lot. Maybe more than I should have. Meeting you made me rethink some things about my life. But, also…the truth is that Nurelion and I have been in a huge fight since the last time I saw you. You can imagine what it is like to live with him on a normal day, but ever since he saw the Phial damaged, it’s been ten times worse. I wasn’t myself earlier, I haven’t been myself for a while. And I know I probably seemed really disinterested this morning, but I was actually very glad to see you. I swear by the Eight!” Divines, she hadn’t given a stance on the matter yet, the shoe had yet to drop. He wanted to vomit.

There was a clink, which made him snap his head around to see what she was doing. She was removing a gauntlet. Before he could figure out why, she reached out with her bare hand and placed it on his shoulder. The area seemed to tingle from the contact. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot as well, just ask Lydia. I’m sorry to hear about you and Nurelion. He seems very difficult to deal with even when his health is not failing. I meant what I said before, if you need ANYTHING, just ask me and I will rush here even if I have to put a job on hold. Because I…I mean, without you, I’d…bemiserabletoo!” She retracted her hand and rubbed her arm shyly while looking away. “Windhelm was a detour on the way back to Riverwood. I have to leave in the morning to learn more about my next mission, so I don’t know when I’ll be back. I just hope that you’ll still feel the same way when I do return.”

“I will,” he blurted without hesitation.

“Then…” Something possessed her, something about the idea of this timid but generous alchemist wanting someone like her. Taking a deep breath to steel her nerve, she stepped closer to him and left a quick peck on his sideburn-covered cheek. “I’ll try to find some reason to show up at your door.” Before he could see how flustered she was, she strode to the door in two long strides and stepped out.

There was a moment where he was too stunned to move, or to process. After a few seconds, once the door had clicked shut, he remembered he wasn’t done. Quintus panicked, thinking he’d missed his opportunity, and rushed out of the shop into the cold night without a second thought. It was cold enough that his words left huge puffs of smoke as he shouted to her back. “Be careful, okay? Don’t do anything too crazy!”

Even from the far side of the plaza, he could see her turn back to look at him and wave. Had he been closer, he’d have seen the brilliant smile on her face.

Satisfied, he locked the door for the second time that night, blew out the candle, and went back to bed. Now he couldn’t sleep for a whole different reason, his body fairly crackling with electricity and pumped up on adrenaline. Sure, Fjori was the Dragonborn and that was huge news, but more importantly, Fjori had kissed him! Kind of. Nothing crazy, but definitely enough to reveal her interest in him. Holy Mara, he felt like he could take on the entire world! Like no task was too difficult to accomplish!

However, it was Julianos who spoke to him in that instant rather than Mara. In a flash of inspiration, Quintus was reminded of the box under his bed containing the cracked phial. He had been gloomy and unmotivated lately, leaving the great treasure his master had pursued to gather dust, but now there was no reason not to do as he vowed and figure out how to repair it. Flinging himself off the bed, he grabbed the box from underneath and darted for a lantern. He may as well channel all this energy into something productive; it wasn’t like he was going to be sleeping tonight anyhow…


	5. Verifying Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, no quest marker points our heroine in the direction of the White Phial, she just makes up her own quest to find out if there might actually be something there romantically speaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not making this up, there was actual Quintus dialogue in-game about him dabbling in enchanting, and that wouldn't even surprise me. I'm going with it.

“It’s been almost two weeks,” Fjori muttered under her breath as she stared at the wardrobe crammed with pelts, ingots and gems. She’d just finished unpacking and organizing the items they’d gathered on their latest jaunt across Skyrim, finally less encumbered. Clearly, buying this small house in centrally-located Whiterun had been a good idea if for no other reason than storage. The orphan Lucia and her adopted rabbit certainly approved of the purchase as well, having full reign of the bottom floor while Fjori and Lydia were away.

Lydia paused to do the math over in her own room of Breezehome, where she too had been unpacking the goods Fjori had gifted her. Once she had it figured, a slow grin spread across her face. “Since our last visit to Windhelm, I presume?”

“Yeah.” Fjori apparently wasn’t even going to try and fight it any longer, and it almost made the housecarl feel a bit disappointed. “We should head back now that Delphine and Esbern have set up shop at Skyhaven. Besides, then we can swing south-west and get back to High Hrothgar. I still have that horn to deliver…”

“I must say, you have been quite focused on your missions as of late. I haven’t even heard you mention any alchemists in that time.” Lydia set down her pack on her bed and walked out to the landing to join her Thane.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. That Thalmor party just had to be scheduled within days of Delphine coming up with her little plot to spy, and all the way up in Solitude nonetheless! And once we knew about Esbern, there sure wasn’t time to delay in case the Thalmor got there first.” Fjori threw up her hands in helplessness. “My crush kind of takes the backseat to saving the world.”

“Oh, so we’re acknowledging this relationship now, are we? When did that change? I mean, last I heard, you paid him that late night visit and talked about you being a Dragonborn, not your feelings.”

“Well, I mean, I did kind of kiss him, so…”

Lydia’s jaw dropped. “Wait. What?! Why am I just hearing about this now after two whole weeks?”

“Oh, didn’t I mention it?” Fjori retorted airily, an almost smug look on her face. “My bad. I guess all that business with the Butcher was at the forefront of my mind at the time…” When she let the sentence trail off, she could almost see Lydia leaning in closer, as if expecting more details. Oh, this was fun punishment for all of her guardian’s merciless teasing!

When she refused to say any more and turned to her bedroom, Lydia finally blurted “Well, how did he react? What was the situation? How exactly did you kiss him?”

“Interested, aren’t you?” She attempted the kind of knowing smirk Lydia was so good at but only succeeded in beaming. Admittedly, the memory still made her a bit giddy. “Ah, fine, I’ll tell you. You have risked life and limb for me, after all. I went back to see him after I checked in with you at the Palace of Kings, right?”

“Yes, I am aware of that. You told me not to come with you so I could answer questions for the guards.” She stopped abruptly, a realization slowly dawning on her. “You told me not to come so you could get romantic with Quintus!”

“Leaving you behind was not coincidental, I will admit. Though, honestly I thought he would want nothing to do with me after seeing me use my Dragonborn powers. I didn’t want you to watch me get humiliated. I was about to walk out on him when I kid you not, he grabbed my arm and begged me not to go!”

“I knew it! And then I bet he blushed!” she predicted eagerly.

“Of course! It was adorable! And, well, it turns out he was being so distant that morning because of a fight between him and Nurelion, not because of me. I told him I had to go, but I’d find a reason to come back, and then I somehow got the guts to lean over and kiss him on the cheek, just a quick little thing really.”

“And his response?”

At that question Fjori finally frowned. “I have no idea. I was so nervous I kissed him and then pretty much ran out the door. But he did run outside after me and yell at me to be safe, so that’s a good sign, right?”

“He did seem to worry about you even though you are clearly a capable woman,” Lydia observed, remembering the entire Butcher incident.

“So I just have to get back there! I want to make sure I didn’t imagine things, and I don’t want him to lose his potential interest by being gone too long. Honestly, I haven’t mentioned it, but those long carriage rides to and from Solitude and Riften gave me a lot of time to think about it rather than focusing entirely on Thalmor and Esbern…”

Lydia finally leaned against the wall, curiosity for the most part sated. “What’s your excuse going to be this time?”

“Enchanting,” she declared immediately, clearly having planned the whole thing out. “He mentioned that in addition to alchemy, he likes to work with magical objects. I’m getting the hang of alchemy now, but I have still have zero skill with enchantments, and it would come in handy. I know there’s an enchanting station at a stall in the market where we could go…”

Lydia had to chuckle at her Thane’s eagerness. “Well, you have a plan and everything, so what are we waiting for?”

“A good night’s sleep, that’s all. Make sure you’re up before the crack of dawn so we can get on that carriage. I’ll go start packing my soul gems!”

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

For the second time, Fjori felt a twinge of nervousness as she and Lydia approached the White Phial. The entire way to Windhelm, she had been too excited to be nervous about the impending reunion. She imagined him smiling again to see her even if his eyes were still tired, wondered whether training in enchanting would involve his hands guiding hers… Would he kiss her back if given the chance? Now that they stood outside the door, these pleasant thoughts were replaced with dismal scenarios where she wouldn’t have anything interesting to say or he had too much to do to be bothered with her company. What if his interest HAD wavered in two weeks? Would he have thought about it some more and realized how absurd it was to have a crush on a freak of nature? Would it be awkward after her little stunt last time? Doubts then led to panic. Would she even know how to act in front of him? Would she make a fool of herself?

Lydia seemed to read the tension in her companion, stopping right outside the door. “You know, you were gone for two weeks last time and that all turned out just fine. Trust me, the guy’s into you enough where a few odd powers won’t dissuade him. He certainly won’t have forgotten you either.”

“You think?”

How her Thane could sound so unsure about that Lydia had no clue. “I know.” She sighed. “Should I be the one to break the ice again?”

“No, I should do it. I’m the one that kissed him after all.” With this decided, she grabbed the handle of the door with a powerful grip, took a deep breath, and threw it open. “Quintus, I’m back!” The end result was rather dramatic, Lydia noted in amusement, and probably not the impression Fjori had been hoping to give.

Unfortunately, not a second after she’d boldly announced her arrival, she realized that there was an elderly woman standing at the counter in front of Quintus. A customer! And when the woman turned to stare at the commotion behind her, Fjori was horrified to realize it was none other than Viola Giordano, the infamous gossip of Windhelm. Behind her, Quintus’s eyebrows shot up in shock. “Fjori?”

“Ooooh, say, you’re that mercenary that solved the Butcher case, aren’t you? Quintus, are you seeing this young lady? She seems awfully familiar with you…” Viola cackled in mirth, causing both parties to turn away uncomfortably.

“We’ve done business before. Mercenaries bring a lot of unique ingredients for our stocks and buy up a lot of potions,” Quintus attempted lamely, scratching his head.

But Viola was no fool, not buying his line for a moment given his weak acting skills. “Yes, I’m sure there’s been plenty of…exchange…between the two of you. Don’t let me intrude, dearies, I’ll just take my troll fat and be on my way. Here’s your fifteen septims.” She laid down the money and took the small canister in hand. “Now I guess we know why you’ve been visiting Windhelm so often lately, don’t we?” With a sly wink, the woman slipped past Fjori and out the door, clearly well satisfied with this new piece of gossip.

Once the door latched, Fjori buried her head in her hands. “What the hell does that woman want with troll fat anyway?”

Quintus gave a stiff chuckle. “Troll fat makes for a good skin cream. It moisturizes and protects against the cold.” He trailed off into uncomfortable silence. Neither could bear to look at the other. Her mind raced, desperately attempting to figure out what to say about that entire scene she’d caused. If only she knew his mind was racing at a similar pace trying to explain his defensiveness. Both had ruled out blatantly asking whether they were actually a thing despite wishing to know very much.

Finally, after watching the pair of them do absolutely nothing and say absolutely nothing to further things, Lydia gave a loud snort. “By the Nine, you two are hopeless! This is getting too painful to watch! I think I’ll just head over to the inn and see about getting our room for the night. Have fun studying the walls.” She turned to go, but stopped midstride. “Oh, and before I forget, take your enchanted dagger from my pouch. That was the whole point of coming here, was it not?” Her final three words were about as pointed as the dagger she handed over, and Fjori could read the meaning clearly.

“Ah, thanks Lydia. I’ll meet you there later then,” her master replied weakly. With a salute to Quintus, Lydia dismissed herself while shaking her head. Well, at the very least she’d given Fjori a parting gift: something to talk about besides feelings of affection and the rumor mill spinning with the stories being told about the two of them (which Viola had no doubt spread to the first person she met on the street).

Fjori cleared her throat and held out the dagger, a cheap iron trinket whose only real value lay in the frost damage runes it carried. Why someone had even wasted the money enchanting such a piece of junk was beyond her. “You said you knew something about enchanting, and I was hoping you would teach me.” She quickly turned her gaze. “That is, if you have the time, of course. And, only if you want to.”

“Oh, I just dabble in it. I’m not nearly as skilled in enchanting as I am with alchemy, and there are many superior tutors in this field that would serve you better,” he dismissed modestly. Still, he leaned closer over the counter. “I mean, I could certainly help with the most basic of principals if that didn’t bother you.”

“Hey, being a novice still makes you better than me. I don’t even know where to start, not even with your potion of snowberries and blue butterfly wings.”  
She still remembered the time he’d shown her the fortify enchanting recipe! This gave him a bit more courage. “Well, I can’t leave the shop unattended, but as soon as we close, I can take you over to Niranye’s stall. She keeps an enchanting table back there. I take it you brought some things to disenchant besides the dagger to get started?”  
Fjori nodded eagerly. “A couple things we picked up when we raided that Forsworn camp a few days ago.”

She said it so casually. Did she not even realize how crazy such a feat sounded to a Windhelm shopkeeper? Those fierce rebels were renowned even on the opposite side of Skyrim for their tenacity and blood-lust. He couldn’t help but take the bait. “You were out in the Reach fighting those Forsworn?”

Something about the way Quintus wanted to know more, as if he enjoyed listening to her ramble on about her exploits, unlocked her normal confidence. He could see it in the way her shoulders relaxed. “Had to. We needed to get to an old Akaviri ruin, and the Forsworn were quite inconveniently in the way. Wouldn’t you know it, they built a huge camp around the one cave in the entire Reach we needed to explore! It’s really a shame they refuse to negotiate.”

The Reach… Quintus blinked, suddenly drawing a connection. There was one thing he just had to ask, seeing as she had just been in that particular region, something that could help with his research. Besides feeling more at ease after seeing her more at ease, the scholar within him prompted him to shed his shyness as well and risk the request. “I don’t suppose you killed a Briarheart warrior in your raid?”

“A Briarheart?” Fjori nodded again. “I am both amazed and disgusted by those things. But Es…I mean, one of my colleagues told me the briarhearts they transplant into their bodies make them stronger, that I should take them right from where they are sewn into their chests to use in alchemy. One of the nastiest things I have ever done in my life! I think it may have still been beating when I did it… I imagine something as crazy as that would fetch a high price, huh?”

“Well, you see, ever since…” He nearly said something like ‘ever since you kissed me’ but quickly opted for something else with a slight shake of his head. “…since you left last time, I got to working on a way to repair the Phial. I haven’t pinned down everything yet, but it was clearly made with a very ancient form of magic that has long since been lost. The only other known type of magic that old is the kind used by hagravens, specifically in the ritual to create a Briarheart.” When he paused his explanation, it occurred to him that he might be going over his audience’s head. Fjori had never proved to be much of an intellectual after all. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bore you…”

“So, you think by using a similar type of magic you could recreate the process that they used to make the Phial?” she wondered seriously, ignoring his apology. By the Eight, she had followed where he was going with this!”

“Y-yes, that’s exactly right!” he beamed. “It will act more as a means of trapping the magical properties than actually repairing the physical Phial, but what good is sealing the crack if it’s lost its famous capabilities?”

Fjori felt a swell of pride that Quintus was so pleased with her observation. She’d never had much confidence in her academic abilities. She could read and do sums like the majority of Nord children, and her alchemist mother had shown her a few things about the workings of the natural world, but in the end she was still far more familiar with an axe and shield than quills and books. Just as quickly, she worried he’d ask her a question that would sound like foreign language to her ears since she’d proven adept at following thus far.

Luckily, instead of furthering the topic, he stopped. “But what am I saying? I’m sure you’ve already run an experiment with the briarheart. I shouldn’t presume things.” The Imperial shrugged shyly. “I just get so excited about my research, I don’t even think.”

“But I DO have it still,” she insisted, feeling strangely enamored with his innocent mannerisms. A nagging voice in the back of her mind, the survival instinct she’d developed as a mercenary, warned her that it might be a ploy to get something out of her. She quickly dismissed the thought for the selfish reason that she didn’t want to believe such a thing. “It’s one thing to experiment with a bunch of flowers that grow all across Skyrim, and quite another to experiment with something I’ve only seen one of. I thought that with such a rare ingredient I’d ask you about it the next time I saw you and get your advice.”

His eyes widened eagerly. “I…wow, that would be fantastic! I mean, if you were willing to sell, of course. I haven’t seen any come through the traveling merchants’ wares in a long time, and I’d pay double the usual price if…”

But Fjori wasn’t listening. She was too busy rummaging in her bag until she had the briarheart in hand, then placed it on the counter in front of him. “It’s yours. You’ll use it far better than I will.”

“I can’t just accept this, Fjori! You have to make a living somehow, and…” Despite his words, he couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the item in question, betraying his deep interest.

She held up a hand. “You’ll show me about enchanting, then we’re even.” There was a pause. “Unless that just makes it sound like I’m bribing you to go out with me…”

Quintus stared for a moment, then finally gave a deep laugh. She’d have worried her comment had been out of line if he didn’t flash a smile that went right to his eyes. Holy Mara, genuinely laughing Quintus was a sight and a sound that she wanted to take with her everywhere she travelled! “Not sure which is funnier about that statement, the thought that YOU would need to bribe ME, or the idea that slaving over the enchanting station sounds like a date.”

Fjori huffed in annoyance. “Well, we could get dinner if you don’t mind the entirety of Windhelm knowing about it.” He wouldn’t want that, she was certain. Good thing she didn’t want that either. Did she?

Indeed, the alchemist shook his head, still smiling. “Tell you what. Meet you in the marketplace when the sun starts to set; I’ll close a bit early and tend to Nurelion so I can meet you there. When we’re done, you can come inside for a bite to eat. I haven’t got much, haven’t really had much time to cook lately, but you’re welcome to some bread and cheese, maybe a few apples…”

A bright ringing of the bell on the door interrupted him as Tova Shatter-Shield entered. He adapted quickly. “And if you come across any more briarhearts, I’d be glad to buy them from you again. Thank you for your business.”

Fjori knew enough about improvisation in battle to react accordingly. “Of course, we’ll see what I come up with on my next trek out west. Until next time.” With more poise than she expected herself capable of, she spun around and left the counter, giving a courteous nod to the customer. Even as she felt the eyes on her back, she refused to look over her shoulder. It was too soon for anyone to be getting ideas.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Lydia was nearly asleep when Fjori barged into their shared room, not even caring that the hour was late and her housecarl might be trying to get some shut-eye. “Hmm, that was a productive evening if I do say so myself!” she warbled in a sing-song voice, shutting the door with a loud slam. Lydia could make out the sound of muffled grumbling on the other side of the wall, no doubt from unhappy patrons in the next room over.

Lydia’s instinct was to roll her eyes dramatically and complain about the inconsiderate entrance, but to be honest she was far too interested in knowing what had transpired after she left. “What are you, drunk, my Thane?”

“No,” Fjori scoffed, plopping on the bed. Then, she reconsidered. “Okay, there was a little wine. Nothing fancy, not even Elven Alto, but it surprised me he had anything of that sort at all. He's always so uptight…” She began counting on her fingers. “Maybe that’s why he only had one glass and I had like four. Finished the bottle for him.” She then frowned. “Shit, I drank the rest of the bottle! I’d better buy him a new one or he’s never inviting me again. I’ll take a good gig and buy him something fancier. Wonder if he’s ever tried that spiced stuff from up in Solitude…”

“Oh boy, you sure cut loose.”

 

“Hey, it wasn’t enough to get drunk off of, just…enough to loosen up a bit, you know?” Sighing happily, she began to unlace her boots.

“Wait, so you had dinner together then?”

“Yeah, just a bit to eat in the back storage room.”

The only thing that sounded less romantic in her mind was if they had eaten dinner out in the alley. “Wow, what ambiance.”

Fjori shrugged, then kicked off a boot. “We couldn’t disturb Nurelion upstairs, and the table downstairs was by a window where someone could see us.”

Now Lydia sat up, hugging her knees. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

Fjori stilled as her second boot went flying. “It’s still too soon. Things could go wrong. We could be over before we begin. People might ruin things with their gossip. It’s just…better to keep it low-key to spare us from the judgement later.” Groaning at the thought, she pulled back the covers and laid down. She may trust Lydia with her life, but that didn’t make her any more inclined to explain why she truly feared going public with her love life. Let the pain of the past stay in the past.

Thankfully the woman changed topics. “So…any more kisses occur, or are you going to hide it from me again?”

Fjori covered her face in her hands. “I was too scared to do it again.”

“Even with the wine?”

That earned a scowl. “Even with the wine. I didn’t want to come across as too pushy, you know? But…” She pulled her hands away, and in the dying candlelight Lydia could see a flush to her cheeks. While it could have been the flush of alcohol, she suspected it was another matter altogether. “When I was saying goodbye, he told me he enjoyed the evening, hoped to see me soon, and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek!”

“And you didn’t even kiss him back?!”

“I was too distracted to think of that!”

“You were too distracted to kiss him back?”

“I don’t know, okay? It was a blur! I just promised him I’d find a reason to come back after my next mission.”

“Well, heaven forbid you lose as much ground with your confidence as you did this time,” Lydia commented dryly. “Or perhaps it is a curse I bring upon the room whenever I want to stay and watch what happens between the two of you.” When her companion rolled over to face the wall with a low growl, she wondered if perhaps she had gone a bit too far. “Do I get one more question?”

“What?” she responded tersely.

“Did you learn any enchanting, or were you too busy flirting?”

An exasperated sigh came from across the room. “For your information, I’ve learned five different enchantments and now know how to learn more on my own as we find new items. Also, Quintus got the briarheart he needed for an experiment with the Phial, so everybody had a good day!”

“Okay, that satisfies me. I’ll shut up now and let you sleep. It’ll be a long trek to Ivarstead.” Lydia leaned over one last time to blow out the candle, enveloping the room in darkness.

“Yeah…” And for the first time in her life, Fjori was not so keen on leaving town.


	6. Rare Ingredients

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the time has come to fix the Phial, and Fjori is more than happy to put her Dragonborn duties aside to help.

Fjori waited until the monastery of High Hrothgar was out of sight before venting, as if the Greybeards had super hearing to match their super voices. “I don’t know what shocks me more, the fact that the leader of the Greybeards is a freaking dragon with far more manners than most humans, or that the Greybeards want me to sit back and let the world end because trying to stop it would be sacrilege.”

“Hmm, that’s a toss-up,” Lydia agreed, stepping over the carcass of the frost troll they had slain on their way up the 7,000 steps. “Didn’t Arngeir tell you that despite the thu’um being Kynareth’s gift to mankind, the fact that you have the dragon blood which allows you to easily master it is a gift of Akatosh? And that following the Way of the Voice as they do may not be what’s intended for you as a result?”

“EXACTLY!” Fjori bristled, recalling the elder Nord’s instant wrath as soon as the name of the Blades came into their conversation. Why he had bad blood with a group that wanted to stop the dragons from destroying everything was beyond her. Sure, his leader was a dragon and he’d want to protect him, but could he really hold a grudge against the Blades for wanting to defend humans from the winged terrors of legend? The stories of their cruelty were still told to this day! “Why would I have this ability if I WASN’T meant to stop Alduin and his resurrected army? It’s like by giving me these powers at the same time as this threat emerged, Akatosh showed he wants his errant creation wiped from the world before they do more harm. And even if that wasn’t true, I’m supposed to just accept such a fate? Maybe it doesn’t seem so bad for a bunch of old guys who live in seclusion on top of a mountain, but even if it is a sin I don’t think I could do anything but try to stop it from happening.”

“Don’t let him get to you, my Thane. The important thing is that the dragon leader supports you and has given you a path forward. The monks may not agree, but they yield to him.”

“Yeah, about that…” Fjori scowled and rubbed the back of her neck. She was about to continue when she noticed a hunter bundled in furs meditating at one of the emblems along the trail. He looked up in surprise to see another making the pilgrimage up the mountain, but waved in greeting before returning to his introspection. Only after she was out of earshot did she continue.

“About that path, I didn’t understand hardly anything Paarthurnax was trying to say. He kept going between our language and the dragon language and it made my head hurt trying to keep up. Also, he spoke in too many what-ifs and could-bes and asked all kinds of philosophical crap I don’t know the answer to. All I got from that entire conversation was ‘find an Elder Scroll and bring it back’. And don’t ask me what an Elder Scroll is.”

“Arngeir made it sound like the college at Winterhold would know,” Lydia reminded as they rounded the corner to the east side of the mountain. They’d descended quite a ways, and already the vegetation was thickening at the lower altitude.

“Ugh, the College of Winterhold… I don’t want to be within a ten mile radius of those crazies, especially not if they are going to talk my ear off about magical theory. I doubt they’d even let a brute like me through their gates,” she whined. “And Winterhold is the most aedra-forsaken wasteland in all of Skyrim. Nothing but horkers, snow bears, and ice as far as the eye can see. What I wouldn’t give for a distraction to…”

“Fjori?” a male voice called faintly from further down, but both women heard it all the same.

“That’s me!” she hollered back, beginning to trot downhill far quicker than she had climbed it. It nearly caused her to lose her footing on the steep stone stairs. When her eyes rested on the man in question, she realized he was a courier, and in his hand was an envelope. “But how the hell did you know where to find me?”

“Quintus Navale told me you would be in Ivarstead, and the folks at the inn told me you had headed up the mountain yesterday. I’ve been waiting at the bottom since then.”

“Quintus?” Lydia noticed her Thane brighten at the name. “Did he send you?”

“Yes, miss.” The messenger held out the sealed letter as Fjori approached him. She was already digging in her pouch for a few gold to tip him with. “He sent it just yesterday.”

“Thank you for your speedy delivery.” Grasping the envelope in her hands, she suddenly felt a bit anxious. Had something happened to Nurelion? Would he even tell her if that were the case?

“Looks like that’s it. Got to go.” And with that, he was jogging away back into town, vanishing just as quickly as he’d appeared.

Fjori just stared at the letter for a few moments, prompting Lydia to comment. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

“R-right.” Carefully she broke the wax seal and removed the contents. She could recognize the handwriting that so many weeks ago had copied a cure disease recipe on her map. Lydia watched her eyes scan the paper top to bottom, though Fjori left no tells in her expression.

“What does he say?” she urged in annoyance.

Gently, Fjori folded the letter shut and tucked it into her pack. “We should get back to Windhelm as soon as possible.”

“Is it Nurelion? Is he near death?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t say anything about him, so I guess he’s still hanging on. It’s about the Phial. I think he’s made a break-through.”

“Oh. His project.” Lydia’s concern fizzled out at this news. “And what about the hunt for the Elder Scroll?”

“It can wait a day or two. And if it can’t, well, at least the Greybeards will die happy.” Before Lydia could protest further, she found herself watching Fjori’s back as she scrambled the rest of the way down the mountain.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Once the sun had set and the moons and stars took over the inky skies, Lydia had to do some serious convincing to get her Thane to stop and take shelter rather than press on through the night. She could see in Fjori’s eye the desire to get to Windhelm without delay despite being attacked by bears, trolls, and even a dragon more powerful than usual as they descended the highlands to the volcanic tundra. Thankfully, Fjori yielded when Lydia had pointed out that Quintus was going to be asleep if she showed up in the middle of the night, and wouldn’t appreciate being disturbed at such an hour. She reluctantly settled into an abandoned shack along the river, a few miles from the outside of the city, to catch a few hours of sleep.

In typical Fjori fashion, once she fell asleep she was hard to wake. They ended up not arriving in the hold’s capital until midmorning the next day. She marched ahead with confidence this time, clutching his letter as she doggedly pushed through the crowds of the marketplace to get to the shop. This crush, Lydia mused, had gone to a whole new level sometime between the Butcher Incident and now. Was it love sickness, perhaps? Unfounded obsession? Fortunately, Fjori had still retained enough sense to refrain from making a scene with her entrance this time. She opened the door without a word, scanning the shop before opening her mouth. No customers today, just Quintus bent down behind the counter, perhaps arranging items on the shelves given the sounds of clinking glass. She was fairly certain that was him, as the top of his red fur hat was still partially visible.

“Be with you in just a second,” he spoke absently, continuing his work. Lydia was about to say something, but Fjori motioned her to stop, a playful grin on her face. Giddy with the thought of surprising him, it seemed.

After a few moments, the young man straightened up only to find himself face-to-face with just the woman he’d wanted to see. He blinked in shock. “Fjori? You’re here already? I didn’t expect you’d be able to come so soon!”

“Good surprise or bad surprise?” she teased, putting her hands on her hips.

His face brightened for a moment. “The best kind of surprise.”

“Well, I told you, when you need me, I’ll rush over as soon as possible. So, here I am!”

Despite the affirming words, a shadow dulled his glow. “Normally, I’d protest that I’m not worth dropping your quests for, but this time I can’t deny time is of the essence. It’s Nurelion…”

Fjori’s eyes widened. “Is he fading fast?”

Quintus nodded somberly. “I’ve studied up on his condition, and he’s showing signs of the final stages. I wouldn’t trouble you with that, but I’ve been working non-stop at solving the mystery of the White Phial, and I’ve determined the two other ingredients I need to repair it.” He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself. “Fjori, I know it’s selfish and it would be taking up your time, but…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Even though we’ve had our falling out, I want to repair it for Nurelion before he slips away. I want him to see the thing he’s chased all his life to completion. And maybe the most selfish part of all, I want to prove to him that I am capable of fixing it. But I can’t do it by myself.” The alchemist shook his head and opened his eyes once more. “The two things I need aren’t things I can just buy from a merchant. They are extremely rare, and it would take someone brave and strong like you to get them, so I…have to beg you. I know you are the Dragonborn, and the world has a bunch of problems more important than this one that only you can solve. But if it is on your way…”

Fjori reached out and took his hands where they lay on the counter, squeezing gently. “I’d go out of my way for you without a second thought. Just tell me what you need, and I will cross the entirety of Skyrim to get it.” Such a ridiculously cheesy line… Lydia almost face-palmed to hear such an over-the-top promise come from her boss’s mouth.

Meanwhile, Quintus’s reaction was to inhale sharply. “You shouldn’t…” Her stern look cut off any further protests, causing him to swallow. “Powdered mammoth tusk is the first ingredient. Only the giants have figured out how to grind it, but it remains as strong as iron and will provide the lattice-work for the formula. I have it on good knowledge that the Stone Hill Bluff camp keeps a ready supply. The other thing…” He trailed off, looking even guiltier than before if at all possible.

“What?”

“It’s at the top of the Throat of the World. There is no one else in all of Skyrim who could retrieve it but you. A patch of unmalting snow exists there, retaining the magic of the creation of Nirn. It will provide the solvent for the mixture and trap the briarheart’s magical properties.”

She released his grip. “Then I won’t waste any time. I’ll leave the city right away, and it should take about five days. You just worry about keeping him alive until I return.”

Finally, Quintus looked over Fjori’s shoulder at Lydia, who was leaning against the wall quietly with her arms folded and observing this exchange. “I’d ask her, but I know what she’ll say, so I’ll ask you instead. Is it wrong to request the legendary Dragonborn run errands for me like this?”

The woman sighed. The entire time, she thought it improper to be putting off the quest to stop Alduin, the World Eater, for some guy Fjori had fallen head-over-heels for. Would she ever say that to his face when he came across so apologetic and hesitant? Not a chance. “In all honesty, she was just whining about how she wanted a distraction to get out of going to Winterhold. You’ve probably done her a favor, so don’t sweat it.” Fjori winced at the unflattering depiction of herself, but this seemed to ease the apprentice’s conscience greatly.

“Okay. I’ll make sure I have everything ready on my end so that once I have the materials it is a simple matter of putting everything together. Well, simple being a relative term, that is.”

“All right. Come on, Lydia, time’s wasting! If we leave now, we can at least get to Nightgate by dusk. That will have us to the giant’s camp by dawn, all the better for sneaking.” Fjori grabbed her housecarl by the arm and dragged her out of the shop. “Just leave it to me, Quintus! I won’t let you down!”

“Wait! Fjori…” he called urgently, but she was so focused on her new mission that she didn’t hear him, and the door slammed shut with the energy of her enthusiasm. No chance to thank her, no chance to promise payment, and most importantly, no chance to make sure she understood that he cared about her for more reasons than the ways she helped him. He hoped she was so busy plotting that such a thought wouldn’t even occur to her.

On the other side of the door, Lydia wrested her arm from Fjori’s grasp. “Stop a minute, my Thane. I have a question before we go traipsing about searching for alchemical ingredients.”

“Hmm?”

“Not here.” Lydia looked around at all the flocks of customers filling the marketplace and shook her head. “This way.” She marched behind the shop into a narrow alleyway and waited until Fjori had followed.

“What’s so secretive you can’t say it in front of the shop?” Fjori demanded, looking mildly annoyed.

“My Thane, have you ever considered that he might be using you?”

Fjori’s annoyance escalated to a sour scowl. Ever-observant Lydia had just given a spoken voice to the fears in her head. “As a matter of fact, yes, yes I have. Any other questions?”

Lydia stared. “You’ve considered it, but still you throw yourself at his feet without hesitation?”

“Hey, he liked me before he knew I was Dragonborn!” It was the defense she always used to combat her doubt. Of course, assuming his mild interest during their initial meetings counted as ‘liking’.

“He liked you as soon as he knew you were strong enough to get the things he couldn’t. I mean, he was already propositioning you to get the Phial the first time you met! From where I’m standing, it’s not unreasonable to suspect that he’s playing you. I mean, he may look and act innocent, but the really deceitful ones are flawless actors.” 

The statement hit Fjori right in the gut as the memory of Calixto’s deception resurfaced, of how thoroughly she had been taken by his harmless old man act. If she hadn’t have given Wunferth a chance to prove his innocence, The Butcher would have gotten away with another murder because of it. What if she really was clueless when it came to people’s motivations? “No, he’s not like that!” She hadn’t realized her voice escalated until she heard it reverberating in the stone corridor. “What about the money he paid from his own pocket? The recipe he snuck? The enchanting lessons?” Surely there were so many reasons why he couldn’t be taking advantage of her… Was she arguing with Lydia or herself?

“First of all, don’t count the enchanting lessons, because you gave him a free briarheart.” The Dragonborn flinched as one of her arguments was swept aside easily. “Secondly, those might very well be investments for the future, preparing you to be manipulated in the long run. Look at what he needs of you now, how much more specific to you the task has become. Any mercenary could get him the Phial, but no one else could get the Nevermelting Snow.”

“You don’t know anything about it! You haven’t spent any time with him!” The counters were getting weaker and weaker.

“I know what’s important. Did you not hear yourself in there? You are the Dragonborn, Fjori, a fierce, noble warrior destined to save us from the World Eater, but just now you rushed without thinking to do whatever he wished. He has you wrapped around his finger, don’t you see that?” Lydia reached forward to grasp her Thane by the shoulders, but Fjori swatted her hands away angrily.

She wasn’t just batting away Lydia though; she was batting away painful memories at the same time. It was the words Lydia was using. Manipulation. Wrapped around his finger. Deceit. Being used. Shit, it all went back to Benor… Damn her for never learning… In the end, her titles and dragon blood didn’t change the pathetic woman she always was. “Look, if anyone here is going to be bitter and skeptical about a man’s advances, it should be me. Maybe you’re right, maybe I’m only seeing the things I want to see, but the fact is…I DON”T CARE!” She whipped around and began stomping out from the alley. “He’s the only thing that keeps me sane anymore, and I have to believe in him. I need to.”

As her Thane rounded the corner, Lydia risked a quick look to the sky and a curse. That went about as well as she’d thought it would. “But you deserve better.”

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Twenty-four hours later, both women were gasping for air, doubled over in sheer exhaustion. Finally, they had outrun the giants. Invisibility potions were great, Fjori realized, until the moment one grabbed the item to be stolen. Then, you were visible to the world and all hell broke loose. As she looked around, she noticed they had been chased clear into Whiterun Hold; the windmill of the Lorius farm was right over the next slope, and Dragonsreach could be seen proudly adorning the hilltop just a little ways further.

“I know we…haven’t been…talking much…,” Lydia began between deep inhales, causing Fjori to jolt. It was true, since their dispute in the alley, Lydia had hardly been able to keep up with her furious pace, much less converse. The night at the inn had been a complete cold shoulder, culminating with her Thane paying the extra money to have separate rooms. And besides a succinct strategy before swiping the mammoth tusk powder and the occasional one-word warning as frostbite spiders and bandits attacked on the roads, nothing had been said, much less anything to ease the tension. No wonder Fjori had been caught off guard by her voice. “But seeing as…we are so…close to Whiterun…may I suggest stopping…to restock and…unload some items…at Breezehome?”

She watched as Fjori weighed the options, no doubt calculating how much time it would cost. At least it gave her more time to catch her breath. “If I said ‘yes’…would you stop accusing me…of doing stupid things…for Quintus?”

Lydia shook her head. “We nearly got clubbed…by angry giants…for that stupid powder. I’m going to keep…calling it like I see it. I’m your protector, that’s my job.”

“So, if you weren’t my protector, but just my friend, then what?” The words seemed hostile, but the tone was subdued, almost wistful, even as she got it out in one breath. Her eyes were blue today as they searched her housecarl for an answer. The combined effect threw Lydia for a loop. Could it be that Fjori was actually lonely even though they were together all the time?

“As your friend… I guess I’d still want you to be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt just because of some guy, you know? But I’d also want you to be happy, and Divines know how effervescent you become the moment you think of him.”

“He makes me happier than I’ve been in a long time.” Her smile at the thought was quickly smothered by the next thought. “But is it only about him, or is it about me putting off my quest as Dragonborn?” she added quietly, averting her eyes. “I can’t tell if he’s just a convenient excuse for you to get on my case about taking a side job. I know you don’t approve of it.”

Lydia sighed, removed her helmet, and wiped her brow. The way the strands of her long, dark hair billowed in the wind and the tired look in her brown eyes reminded Fjori that her follower was still a woman like any other despite being a honed warrior. Perhaps she had been forgetting that fact in all the insanity that had followed her being named Thane. At the very least she had been taking the fact for granted as she dragged Lydia around Skyrim in these past few weeks.

“Since I was young, duty was drilled into my head, a single-minded focus on the task given. I know my role is to support my Thane, but I can’t help but feel that sometimes you need a voice of reason. You aren’t just any mercenary anymore, you have a huge responsibility to…”

“I know that! Gods, there isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think about it! Sometimes I feel like it is going to swallow me whole. It’s too much for someone so simple-minded and backwards like me… Sometimes I just need a break, Lydia, or I’M going to break.” The silence hung heavy, and Lydia could see Fjori was surprised that she had finally admitted it out loud. She was hanging her head in defeat, as if a legendary hero wasn’t supposed to have those kinds of thoughts.

“So, I guess what I really want to know is, did you run to Quintus to get out of tracking down an Elder Scroll, or did you do it because you are crazy about him?”

“Both,” was her immediate response. “Retrieving things mindlessly is what a mercenary like me does best, and it just feels right to do something like that once in a while before I go crazy and lose myself. But I’ll also do whatever it takes to make Quintus’s ambitions come true. I want to see him believe in himself, know that he’s so much more than Nurelion made him think he is. If I have to climb right back up the tallest mountain in Skyrim after just coming down, so be it. It’s scary to admit how much it means to me, but it’s the truth.”

Lydia blinked, as if trying to decide where to take that confession. “So…is it a crush, or do you love him?”

“It’s not just a crush, but…I don’t know if I love him yet, we’ve barely spent any time together and I don’t know him very well. What do you even call that?”

The housecarl shrugged helplessly. “I can’t say from experience, sorry. Suffice it to say, you are serious about pursuing this.”

“Yeah. The only thing I know for sure these days is that I want to see if it can be more.” Lydia seemed uneasy at this response, so Fjori quickly added “But I know my work as Dragonborn comes before anything I want. Maybe he’ll only be a pleasant distraction when I need it every now and then.”

Lydia opened her mouth to add something, but quickly snapped it shut. “My Thane, perhaps part of the problem is that I overstep my bounds as your housecarl. I am here to serve and obey, and I have not been doing either very well lately. Please forgive me; I will do my best to improve my behavior going forward.”

Fjori reached over and punched her lightly on the arm. “Oh knock it off. You know I don’t want a blindly obedient servant following me around. You’d do better to stay the way you are. It’s good for me. It challenges me and keeps me balanced. Just…I need you on my side, Lydia. Talk about it, argue about it, reason with me all you want, but in the end we need to be on the same page. I can’t do this alone.” She shook her head sadly.

Her partner nodded. “Agreed. But we both need to communicate better about what we want, I think.”

“Sounds about right to me. Are we good then?” Fjori stuck out a hand, waiting expectantly for a handshake.

Lydia shook her head, but a small smirk tugged at her mouth as she extended her arm. “Let’s finish this quest, then. If we’re being more up-front with each other, I may as well confess that despite my paranoia that comes from housecarl training, I do find Quintus endearing with his quirks. I guess it’s like you said, there is something to be said for earnestness.”


	7. Gains and Losses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think we all know where this is going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole thing was so anticlimactic in the game, and a total missed opportunity for emotional gravitas. I will forever imagine the scene going something like this (with or without Fjori) for Nurelion and Quintus. Please let me know if the letter ended up being too ooc. I just know there are people who do care but cannot for the life of them express it in typical ways.

Five days. That had been Fjori’s best guess at her anticipated arrival with the ingredients, and he knew she hadn’t really sat down to think the estimate through, but he clung to that number, counting down each day as he crawled into bed only to toss and turn restlessly. The old man had stopped eating as of yesterday, and was just barely taking some water and his tonic. He slept nearly constantly, which seemed for the best; he was much more at peace that way even if his ragged breathing still sounded painful. If it wasn’t for the possible completion of the White Phial, Quintus would pray to the Divines that they’d just release him from this torment already. Falling out or not, he wouldn’t wish Nurelion’s current existence on anyone.

It had been three days since Fjori flew from his shop to fetch the Mammoth Tusk Powder and Nevermelting Snow, and Quintus was near his wits’ end. Worry for her safety, worry that it wouldn’t arrive in time, worry he would mess up and fail with so much riding on him… There was nothing to do except mindlessly fill orders, do chores, and go over his research for the umpteenth time. He had to get the repairs right on the first attempt, and he had to do it quickly.

He was in the middle of balancing the books when he heard the Altmer cough violently above him. Quintus had heard a lot of coughing in the last few months, ranging from an inconvenient clearing of the lungs to a deep-seated rattle that couldn’t get loose, but this time it sounded downright sinister, as if he couldn’t get any space to draw breath. It didn’t stop after a few moments either, unwilling to release its hostage from its clutches. Already on edge, he dropped his quill, grabbed the tonic, and flew up the stairs. Angry at the man or not, it just wasn’t in the Imperial’s nature to leave another to suffer.

He found the coughing wracking the frail old man’s body, and his stomach plummeted in fear. Perhaps he was hearing the death throes two days too soon. “Master!” The young man hurried to his side, completely ignoring the fact that he hadn’t used that title for nearly a month. Instincts, it seemed, died hard. Finally, golden slits looked up at him, unfocused, but still more than he’d gotten for a long time. “Can you drink?”

“No.” His voice was the slightest hint of a rasp that escaped with a cough. When Quintus attempted to hold the flask to his mouth, he stubbornly turned his head away.

Tears prickled at Quintus’s eyes. “I know it hurts, Master, and I don’t like seeing you this way, but please. I need just a little more time. A few more days…” He paused to roughly wipe his eyes. “There’s something I have to do yet before you leave. Something I have to show you. So please, just hang on a bit longer.”

He could see Nurleion’s body clench, as if trying to restrain itself. His head turned back and his mouth opened slightly, leaving Quintus space to pour the liquid as soon as there was a pause in the coughing. That left the two of them to sit in the silence only broken by wheezing.

“I thought…you didn’t want…” Nurelion couldn’t muster enough strength to finish, but his apprentice could easily guess where he was going with his statement and shook his head violently.

“I’ll prove to you that I’m not useless. Fjori is out there right now trying to get the ultra-rare ingredients I need even though you always doubted her intentions. Then you’ll see how wrong you were about both of us. That’s why you can’t die yet!”

“It…intrigues me,” he offered, choking back another weak cough. “But I can’t…stop…”

“I know you can’t. All I ask is that you try. Not for yourself, because I know if you had a choice you’d slip away in an instant. It’s for me, it’s all for me. It’s selfish, but I need this.”  
Nurelion’s tired eyes stared ahead blankly, and Quintus wondered if he had understood. With a defeated slump, he turned to walk away. He almost missed the faint words uttered behind him. “So be it.”

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

“Oh Divines, I hope we aren’t too late!” Fjori fretted as the pair all but sprinted to the marketplace of Windhelm. Night was falling, leaving few witnesses to their desperate charge.

“You know there are some things beyond even a Dragonborn’s control,” Lydia reminded, not unkindly. Since their heart to heart, Lydia had been much more sympathetic about the whole situation, and Fjori appreciated it immensely.

“I know, but if we wouldn’t have gotten lost trying to reach Ivarstead from the north and lost that day…that could be the difference maker!”

“Five days is what you predicted. We’ve made the entire trek from Windhelm to the giants’ camp in the Pale to the top of the Throat of the World and back. A person couldn’t ask for more, unless of course you’ve been keeping your ability to teleport a secret.” Fjori shook her head as if it had been a serious question. “Look my Thane, you’ve given everything you had to this task. And even if Nurelion doesn’t live to see it, your efforts will make a difference to Quintus.”

“Perhaps in a way, yes, but will that be any consolation to him when he loses the chance to prove himself to his master?”

“Don’t you think that if Nurelion was a master worth proving himself for, he would have seen Quintus’s worth by now?”

Fjori gave pause. It was both comforting and annoying that Lydia spoke true. “You’re right. I’ll still pray though.”

Through the marketplace they hurried, drawing a handful of curious stares from the vendors packing up their stalls for the day. The majority had come to recognize Fjori and Lydia by now, if not from being helped by them in some way, from watching them come and go. And the urgency with which she flung open the door to the White Phial was certainly strange indeed. At this point, she didn’t care who saw what or what they thought about it.

“Quintus, I’ve got them!” she exclaimed, ripping off her satchel and holding it up triumphantly. It was then that she realized he was already set up at the alchemy table, burners flared up on a low setting and instruments scattered around him. The Phial rested on the table, along with the briarheart. Clearly, he had counted on her fulfilling her estimate of time. Quintus had whipped around the instant he’d heard the door fly open, and she could see the dark circles under his eyes just like she had all those weeks ago; this time, however, instead of being dull and lifeless, his eyes were frantic. It surprised her when he didn’t react to her entrance with any kind of delight, but rather simply strode over and grabbed the satchel from her, digging out the necessary components without any hesitation and tossing the bag back to its owner.

“I’ll thank you for this when I’m done. Nurelion stopped taking liquids last night. He’s hanging on by a thread. Please, wait in the back room while I work. I have to get this right, and I just can’t focus if…” He grimaced apologetically, but Fjori just nodded in understanding.

“I know you can do it,” she encouraged softly. Quintus felt a strong urge to pull the woman into his arms and embrace her for her words, for her actions, for everything really, but there was simply no time for such a frivolity at the current moment. He grunted in acknowledgment and turned to his workspace. The women took the hint and snuck into the back room to wait.

“He’s a man possessed,” Lydia muttered under her breath once they were out of the room.

“I know what you mean. Gods, I hope it works, or he might snap…” Fjori bit her lip worriedly. Unconsciously, she began to pace the length of the room. “If it is meant to be, I know he’d be the one able to pull it off though. There’s no one as better prepared as he is, or as dedicated for that matter.”

“I’ll bet he’s gone over his notes a hundred times in the last five days alone.”

Then, they fell into tense silence as they waited. Fjori wasn’t willing to say anything about it, but the way he’d been so brusque with her had felt unsettling, for all the concerns Lydia had brought up earlier. Would he still think of her if things worked and he gained renown? Would he turn away from her if they didn’t? Where would they stand when the dust settled, and would it prove everything Lydia worried about wrong? She had to physically shake her head as if to shake those thoughts out. This was no time to be selfish.

“Fjori, hand me a restore health potion!” Quintus’s urgent voice broke their meditation. Without a second thought she dug around in her satchel for the potion in question and hurried from the room to deliver it with Lydia hot on her heels. Quintus was still bent over his station when she presented the small bottle, but when she looked down she noticed that the White Phial had been patched. Sure, the color was slightly off so one could see where the repair had been made, but it seemed like it did the job, at least to her untrained eye. He took the bottle, finally meeting her eyes. She could see the anxiety in his furrowed brows, and his hand was shaking as it brushed against hers. How had he carried out such a delicate procedure with these trembling hands? “I’ll make you a new one, I promise.” With that, he somehow managed to dump the liquid into the Phial, sloshed it around a bit (testing to be sure no liquid leaked out?), and tilted his head back as he downed the potion. Even in this intense moment, Fjori couldn’t help but watch the gentle bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed it.

When he finished and set the Phial down on the workbench, the alchemist finally became aware of the two pairs of eyes intently studying him. “I’m sorry, I wanted to make sure I was the one to drink from it first in case something went wrong,” he hurriedly explained. Then, he looked down at the Phial. “Just to be sure, there is nothing left in here, right?”

Both Fjori and Lydia looked inside as he held the Phial towards them. “Just a tiny drop,” Lydia qualified. With a nod, Quintus wedged the stopper in it and set it on the table, shaking his arms out with nervous energy. “In about five minutes, there should be enough to fill the Phial about a centimeter deep. Then we will know whether or not the repairs were successful.” Exhaling heavily, he rubbed the back of his neck. “By my calculations it will take twenty four hours for the entire phial to replenish. Even miracles take time, right?”

Fjori didn’t know what to say, so she nodded mutely. Quintus caught her gaze again, and reading the hesitation in her eyes, forcibly relaxed the tension in his body. His cold attitude had probably spooked her, and the guilt was quickly creeping in. “I apologize for the rude welcome. I’ve had my head so wrapped around this project for so long, and I’ve watched Nurelion go downhill fast these last few days. No matter how this turns out though, you’ve helped me immeasurably and I’m grateful for your assistance. The ingredients were just what I needed, and this could never have happened without you. I know you put your missions on hold for this, and I just hope…” He ducked his head to study the floor. “I hope I haven’t wasted your efforts. Or Nurelion’s.”

“Quintus, you are NEVER a waste of my time. Whether it works or it doesn’t, that won’t change.” When he looked back up, he saw the doubt melt from her features, replaced by a new tenderness. Was that…directed at him? All he could do was blink lamely, so she grabbed his hands in hers with the strong grip that no doubt came from wielding axes. “And if I may be so bold, your worth is not dependent on Nurelion’s assessment of you. You will be just fine taking over the shop, and will probably even discover more amazing things with your research. I believe it completely.” She gave his hands a reaffirming squeeze.

“Fjori…”

Lydia, meanwhile, had been growing bored and a bit nauseous at the display between the other two in the room. Sneakily, she inched her way to the worktable. When it went unnoticed, she grabbed the bottle. Had it been five minutes yet? Too bad if it hadn’t. She popped the top off the Phial and peered inside. “Hmm, I don’t recall there being so much liquid in here before. Second opinion?”

Fjori dropped her hold of Quintus’s hands immediately and scrambled to Lydia’s side, leaving him to gawk and abandoning their conversation entirely. When she peered inside, her face lit up. “Definitely more liquid in here! As I thought. Third opinion, Master Navale?”

Quintus swallowed and tentatively joined the pair. Of course they wouldn’t be messing with him (such a thing would be unthinkably cruel from anyone, much less those two), but still he questioned their testimony, unable to halt all the nagging doubts that sounded suspiciously like Nurelion. Without looking, he took the Phial from Fjori and swirled the contents. There were contents to swirl! His jaw dropped, and finally he looked inside. It was undeniable: there was enough liquid to cover the bottom of the Phial where there had only been a drop or two before. When he looked back up at Fjori’s beaming grin, he slowly grew one of his own. “We did it…”

“You did it!” she echoed with enthusiasm. “But this is no time to celebrate! Go show him!”

“Ah, right! Come with me, he needs to know you helped with this!” Clutching the Phial, he turned and scurried up the stairs with both women not far behind. Fjori was bursting with eagerness to see Nurelion’s reaction to his apprentice’s accomplishment, the way Quintus would beam with pride upon receiving his rightful praise, but still, they kept a respectful distance even as he drew close to the bedside. Nurelion was breathing shallowly now, his golden skin having taken a pallid tone. It struck Fjori that Quintus had every right to be out of sorts with his master in such a condition.

Quintus got down on his knees beside the bed and gently shook his master’s shoulder with his free hand. “Master! Master Nurelion, wake up! You have to see this!” Nurelion didn’t respond, prompting the young man to shake a bit harder than he would have liked. The old man seemed so frail… “Please, Master, open your eyes, I’ve done it! The Phial is repaired, and it works now. We’ve tested it. It holds liquid, and after draining it, we found more inside not long after. It’s just as you always described, Master, just like all the legends. Please look!” His pleas grew more desperate as he failed to get a reaction, hope draining from his face. Fjori could feel her heart breaking as she heard the strained edge in his voice. “You need to see it before you die, don’t you? It’s all you’ve ever wanted! You spent your whole life focused on it. You gave up everything for it, even moved all the way to this frozen corner of Skyrim from the Summerset Isles! I’ve worked so hard, given everything I had to fix it for you and hand it over in its original state. You can’t die without seeing it!” A fat tear dropped onto the covers, then another. “Please, you have to, you just have to! If you don’t open your eyes, what was all this for?”

Slowly, Nurelion’s eyes opened just a fraction of a bit. Whether he could actually see the Phial in its completed glory or not they would never know, but everyone in the room heard his final words despite the minimal volume with which they were whispered. “The Phial…it’s whole? Then you need…no master. Just keep…her close.” The young man’s eyes widened at the old man’s suggestion, but he continued with great difficulty, attempting to raise his arm from under the blankets to point, but ultimately failing. His eyes closed once more. “Quintus…my boy…top drawer…” He trailed off as his breath left him, head sinking back into the pillow. An eerie stillness overtook him. Nurelion had finally faded away.

“M-Master?” Trembling, Quintus reached under the covers to pull out his arm. The appendage was completely limp, dead weight, and when he felt for the pulse at his wrist, there was none. Part of him felt relief in this moment; Nurelion was no longer suffering. Even though he would never complain about it, caring for the dying man had taken a large chunk of his time and sanity and been a great sacrifice. In a way, they were both free now. That part of him wasn’t winning the fight for dominance, however. “Master…” His chin dropped to his chest as he fought the lump in his throat. For all his faults, that was what this alchemist had been to him, and nothing would change that.

In the back of the room, both Fjori and Lydia bowed their heads respectfully. “Quintus, I’m so sorry… But he knew, didn’t he? You did everything…”

“Please go fetch the priestess of Arkay,” he interrupted in a flat voice. Then, softer, he added “I need to be alone for a while.” He remained turned away, leaving Fjori unable to read his face.

“I understand. When should we tell her to come?”

It was hard to think of an answer. It was hard to think of anything. “Give me until sunrise. And on your way out the door, please leave a note in the window saying we are closed until further notice.”

“Of course. We’ll be back later with Helgird. You do what you need to do.” With that said, she took her leave, fighting every urge to go and wrap her arms around him to comfort him. She reasoned he probably just needed to be left alone to grieve, not get smothered by someone who was some kind of unestablished love interest. With Lydia following behind, there was no chance to risk a look back either. This was difficult, but it wasn’t about her.

Quintus drew unsteady breaths as he waited to hear the door slam shut. Then and only then did he yield to his curiosity regarding Nurelion’s final message: top drawer. His nightstand, no doubt. What it meant he couldn’t imagine, but at least it gave him something to focus on besides his departed teacher. Pulling the drawer open, he found a single folded piece of paper along with a quill and half-used bottle of ink. It didn’t surprise him that there was nothing else in the drawer; Nurelion was meticulous with organization in everything he did. With trembling hands he reached out and grabbed the paper. To be honest, the thought of opening it was terrifying, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. Maybe it was the thought that whatever was written on the paper would make this more difficult. 

Finally, he took a deep breath and opened it, revealing an entire letter. The handwriting was shaky, which had probably irritated Nurelion. Doing anything at such a low quality would have. He must have written it near the end even though there was no date. In the deepening gloom of dusk, Quintus struggled to make out the words, so before he dedicated himself to the task, he stood, easing the weight from his aching knees, and moved mechanically to light a candle. It occurred to him that a chair might also help, so he fetched that as well before settling in next to Nurelion’s bed and beginning to read.

 

Quintus,

I wanted to wait longer to write this, to see how things would play out, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold the pen much longer. Damn illness and frailty…such an inconvenience.

It’s been three days since our last conversation, if you could even call those words a conversation. You still look exhausted, but now I hear you when I wake up in the middle of the night, making too much damned noise shuffling through tomes and ruining the dark with the glow of your lamp as you read. I know what you’ve decided to do, and I know why. I wouldn’t be much of a scholar if I couldn’t figure out that much.

I may be sleeping quite a bit now, but I could also still hear the conversation you and that mercenary girl had the very same night. I suppose I really should have taken better care of the place so there aren’t gaps in the floorboards… It’s an interesting turn of events. Will you be able to handle all the implications of her confession? You seem determined, more determined than I’ve ever seen you, where that Fjori is concerned. I won’t stop my suspicions, of course, not when my apprentice’s well-being is on the line, but I suppose even this old elf can admit it’s brought out all the qualities you’ve always seemed to lack. It may shock you, but I’d given up on the idea of you ever standing up to me, and the bigger concern was never that she’d use you, but that you’d always let yourself be used no matter the circumstance. This has put my mind at ease.

Seven years ago, I stopped at the university in the Imperial City hoping to find the ideal free labor. When you were presented to me by your professors, I saw in you the perfect obedient worker. You’d do whatever I asked when I asked, eager to please, and even better, were competent in your studies. All I needed was to get to Skyrim, set up shop, then turn you loose once your work was no longer needed. Clearly, that was not how things played out.

The year or two I planned on taking an ‘apprentice’ grew to three, four…and here we are now. Your innate talent and passion for the craft left me unable to release you. And you were always a quick, observant learner. It goes without saying I’d never taken an apprentice in all my years because they would be too much work, get in the way of my own ambitions. However, I never had to explicitly teach you anything, quite the boon for a self- focused old man like me. By the end, I had to scold my apprentice for neglecting his chores to run his own experiments! The drive of the student is unparalleled. My boy, ending your apprenticeship would have been throwing a rare gem back into the slag heap, and along with my desire to find the White Phial, I grew a secondary motivation practically on a whim: to see you reach your potential and become one of the foremost alchemists of your time.

The only thing standing in the way was the very quality I had initially sought: obedience. An alchemist can give both life and death; ours is not a craft to be taken lightly. The master alchemist will be sought out for all manner of research, and without the backbone to stand against what he finds unethical or immoral, he can cause a great deal of harm. To simply do as you’re told would not benefit you, nor would it benefit the world. At last, I have seen the flicker of defiance in your eyes, and though you may not believe it, it means I can rest in peace knowing you are ready.

Once I am gone, the shop is yours. This has been arranged with the steward since I first discovered I’d contracted this cursed illness. The day I’d arrived here, I thought I’d be staying for only a year or two and selling when it was time to move away. Yet another thing that did not go according to plan. So be it. My former apprentice will need a place to continue to practice and support himself, and you already know the shop like the back of your hand anyhow. All the money, stock, and everything within the store will also pass to you. You will find my research notes of particular interest, I imagine, and it’s just as well, as few other alchemists could interpret my writings anyhow. Now with these resources, you can take that trip back to Cyrodiil like you always wanted. Also, your charming mercenary will surely fancy a man with financial stability…

Most importantly, Quintus, whether your experiments to repair the Phial work or not, it doesn’t matter. Your rite of passage is not the Phial, just as my life’s greatest work was never locating it. You were ready to be your own master the day you declared it. As for me, while I may die with the satisfaction of knowing I found the relic at last, I can die in peace without seeing it function. My greatest achievement was not this, it was you.

Blasted hands, this has taken me hours across many days to write in my condition. I’ve certainly had plenty of time to consider my words… Of course, you know me well enough to understand I could never SAY any of it. Burn it when you’re done, or keep it, I don’t care. And best of luck with your future career. I have the utmost confidence your name will be found in the annals of alchemical theory by the time you are done.

-Nurelion

P.S. When you are done crying, because I know you will be, get the nerve to kiss Fjori like you mean it. Both of you are horrible at flirting, and if you have truly manned up, you should make your move.

 

It seemed to take an eternity to finish reading the letter. The tears blinding his eyes made reading awfully difficult. At many points he just had to stop and soak it all in. So much of it was so unlike Nurelion to say that it was hard to comprehend. Sometimes he gave an eye roll at Nurelion’s bluntness, sometimes a snort of amusement at his dry comments, and sometimes a long look at the lifeless body lying on the bed as if he’d gone crazy and already remembered the man incorrectly. But by the end, when all was said in written word, there was only unadulterated sobbing as the man crumpled onto the bed and buried his head in his arms. He’d been right, this letter made everything so much harder.


	8. Momentary Stasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjori comforts Quintus, and he has a gift for her that silences all doubts.

The sun was just starting to rise when he jolted awake, the still-gray sky providing enough light to see the outlines of the items in the room. Had he fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of his grieving, leaning over onto the nightstand to prop up his head? If he had, there was no way it could have been for more than an hour or two. He’d definitely read and reread the letter several times, trying to wrap his head around the content, until the candle had burned down. But if it was morning…the priestess would be here soon. He had to get moving.

With a groan, he stood, back stiff from the awkward way he’d fallen asleep. Tears had long since dried out, leaving him parched, puffy-eyed, and exhausted despite the bit of sleep he’d gotten. Curse the old man for acting one way and feeling another! What was so hard about giving praise once in a while, especially when it was now clear Nurelion had had so much confidence in his abilities? And why all the agony he had endured these last few weeks because the Altmer couldn’t admit to his feelings and talk it over? There were so many reasons to be mad at Nurelion, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to feel anger. Rather, he just felt empty with the understanding that he’d had something, and only just realized it now that it was gone. Leaving a letter was all well and good for Nurelion, but Quintus was still undecided whether it made things better or worse for him. Now, he would never have the chance to share his feelings with his master, not unless he could hear him from the outer realms of Aethereus. 

Truth be told, he could probably sit there with Nurelion’s body even longer, but he had to get washed up before anyone saw him looking like an emotional wreck. Damn it, he could still hear Nurelion’s condescending voice reprimanding him for his fragile feelings. Ugh, would that ghost ever go away, or would he always carry that with him as long as he lived? Roughly, he rubbed the remaining sleep from his sore eyes. Casting a final glance at the body, he muttered “This is your own fault, you know, so don’t mock me for this!” And with that, he turned on his heels and started down the stairs, mentally running through his to-do list. Wash his face, change his clothes, chew a sprig of frost mirriam to get rid of that awful, bitter taste in his mouth…

Once he was halfway down, he nearly fell the rest of the way in shock. It turned out he was not alone in the building. Fjori had returned sometime while he had been asleep, and he had never seen her as she was in this moment, wearing a simple blue dress with cream-colored sleeves rolled up, scrubbing the table by the window. A simple leather cord held her wavy, medium-length hair out of her face while she worked. She could pass for a normal woman looking like this. But why was she here cleaning his store? Clearly, she was pretending she didn’t notice his descent. Unless he was wrong and he could sneak back up the stairs before she saw him in his current state…

When his weight shifted, there was a loud creak. So much for sneaking away… He could see her pause her work, though she didn’t make a motion to turn around. It was as though Fjori didn’t know what to do. Typical, that made two of them. Only Nurelion’s final words nudged him forward. He owed it to her to be brave. “Fjori?” The tone that escaped him was choked, and he quickly cleared his throat. “What are you doing here?”

Slowly, she turned. As he feared, her eyes widened when she saw how red his own eyes were from crying. “I’m sorry Quintus. I didn’t know whether I should come back so you wouldn’t have to be alone right now, or give you space. If…if you want me to go, I’ll leave.” She ducked her head like a scolded child.

“I…don’t really know what I want,” he admitted quietly, easing down the final few stairs. “But I suppose I’ve had enough time to myself.”

With him on the same level and not dismissing her, she seemed a bit more encouraged. Quickly she grabbed a flask of water, clearly prepared for just this instance, and held it out to him. “Here. You should drink at least. I mean, if you are hungry, I can slice up some bread and cheese. I saw where you keep everything last time I was here.”

Quintus took the water gratefully, but shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not hungry right now, but I needed this. Thank you.” He wasn’t lying. She watched him drink half the bottle before finally setting it down on the counter. Stupid. Why hadn’t he included ‘drinking water’ on his to do list? Apparently he needed Fjori looking out for him. “How long have you been here? I didn’t even hear the door open.”

Long enough to sweep the floors, wipe down the counters, wash the dishes, and wonder idly what it would be like to be his wife and tend the store each day instead of roaming around and taking jobs. She certainly wasn’t going to bring that up. “I came back a few hours ago. Lydia is still back at the inn, but I wanted to make sure you were okay,” she shrugged helplessly. “Are you okay?”

He wanted to lie and say it was all fine, but his face was a pretty big tell. Also, if he really wanted to be serious about Fjori, why should he pretend things in front of her? “He left a letter, a very long letter. It made things…more difficult.” When she raised her eyebrows in concern, he shook his head. “I mean, emotionally. You know how he was. Now try to imagine him praising me and telling me how qualified I am. It was just…frustrating and confusing.”

Her gaze softened. “He was hard on you, but it was because he believed in you, was that it?” Why when she said it did that stinging sensation in the corners of his eyes return? He was done with crying! He shouldn’t have any tears left to cry! Her next sentence only made it worse. “It’s probably not my place to say, but I know he held on as long as he did for you. He knew you would do it.” 

Of all the thoughts he’d ruminated on last night, why had that detail escaped his notice? If he’d pieced together how quickly Nurelion had passed away once Quintus had showed him what he needed to show him, that the timing of his passing was no coincidence, he would not be caught off guard now by this simple observation. Nurelion had done what he’d begged him to do, clinging to life despite the pain for no other conceivable reason than he wanted to support him in the end. It had been his last gift to him. Damn it all…

With a grunt, he turned his head away before she could notice the tears welling in his eyes. “At any rate, I’m now the owner of the White Phial. Well, both the White Phials, I guess. He’d taken care of everything, and…” His speech was speeding up rapidly as he panicked, and his tone was growing pinched. No, this was not how this was supposed to go!

“Quintus, you know you don’t have to hide from me.” It wasn’t quite an accusation, but more of a plea. He still refused to budge.

“You don’t need to see me like this.” His hands clenched into fists. “Rather, you don’t want to. It’s hardly attractive.”

She let out a snort before she could contain it. “Is there ever a person who feels attractive after crying?” When she noticed him wince, she regretted her choice of words immediately. “No, that didn’t come out right. You know what I mean, don’t you? That’s just how these things go. You lose someone close to you, you cry a lot, you look like a mess, but that doesn’t matter.” Still, he wasn’t turning, and she was rapidly becoming terrified she was missing the mark entirely and making the situation worse. “No, that’s still not right! I mean to say that whether you’re at your best or your worst, it won’t scare me away, all right? Damn it, I suck at being comforting! I just want to make you feel better, Quintus. How can I make you feel better?”

Now her face was burning in embarrassment. She’d always been clumsy with words, and while that didn’t seem to bother most Nords, many foreigners she’d come into contact with had found it worthy of disparaging eye-rolls and the term ‘blunt’. It seemed her courting was doomed to failure due to this deficit of ability as well… “I’ll go away. That would probably make things better seeing as I can’t even say the right things.”

With more speed than she’d ever predicted from a sullen mourner, he spun around, closed the distance and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close against his body and resting his chin on her shoulder as if to anchor her there. “You don’t have to say anything, Fjori. Everything you do makes me feel better. Don’t let my self-consciousness give you the wrong idea. I don’t know what I would have done if all of this had happened without meeting you first. I’d be so lonely…”

She started to open her mouth, but thought better of it. He’d just said it was the things she did, right? So instead of saying anything, she held him and gently rocked back and forth. She internalized the way it felt to be pressed against his body, not abundantly warm given his lean Imperial build and lack of resilience to the cold, but certainly still comforting. The way his hands pressed against the small of her back reassured her that there was nothing forced about this abrupt embrace. That realized, she could enjoy the feel of his breath in his chest as it gradually evened out, calming down. They remained like that for who knew how long, only breaking apart when a sharp knock on the door dispelled the comforting blanket of silence enveloping them.

“Hello? I’m back with the priestess.” It was Lydia, of course.

Fjori straightened out her dress as if their embrace had even created any telling wrinkles. “Is it okay if I let them in?”

Quintus took a deep breath. “Yes. Let’s get this over with.” And nothing more was said about it.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Once Nurelion had been given the proper rites (and not even Quintus knew if those rites were in the vein of the Altmer’s religion given how little his religion had ever been referenced), they’d helped to haul his body on a stretcher back to the temple for preparations. Quintus stayed to oversee them. Meanwhile, Fjori and Lydia made a special trip outside the city walls to gather some flowers to honor the old man. In the snowy hills of Eastmarch, there wasn’t much variety, but between the two of them they managed to get a decent amount of blue mountain flowers. Quintus was gone collecting a few of Nurelion’s belongings when they dropped off the flowers with the priestess, but she assured them their offering would be burned with the body, a welcome tribute. Sadly, there was no time to wait around for the cremation ceremony; Fjori still had preparations to make for the upcoming journey. As much as she wanted to stay with Quintus through this tough time, she knew she had a responsibility that had been put off. When all was said and done, they headed back to the inn. They would try to get some sleep, then leave come morning.

Sleep proved elusive, but Lydia knew better than to say anything as she listened to her Thane toss and turn in the dark. She herself certainly felt for the boy, but Fjori’s concern was in a whole different plane. She was simply grateful that she hadn’t been forced to bring up leaving the city for Winterhold; Fjori had proposed the idea herself, despite the hint of resignation in her voice. It was time for things to be back to normal, or at least as normal as they could be for a Dragonborn and her housecarl.

At last the first light of day painted the stone streets in a golden glow. Clear skies, a good omen. In the bottom level of Candlehearth Hall, this was impossible to know, but both had gotten the feeling it was time to rise and head out from so many days of similar schedules. In silence the pair began the slow process of suiting up, adjusting the straps on chest plates and gauntlets with well-rehearsed fluidity.

They had just finished and were about to pack their bags when a polite knock on the door got their attention. “Who in the world-” Fjori muttered as she clambered over to open it. When the door creaked open, she found herself face to face with Quintus. “Quintus?” Seeing him outside the shop was such a rare sight!

“I’m glad to see I didn’t wake you. I didn’t want to miss you either, so I came over here as soon as it was light enough to see,” he began. He looked as if he’d slept as much as she had.

“We have to look for a rare artifact now,” Fjori explained helplessly, not willing to share all the details freely. She’d long ago decided it was best if he didn’t know for his own safety as well as hers. “We’re going to the College in Winterhold to get some ideas of where to look. I’m dreading it so much.”

“I hear it’s pretty much like the end of the world up there,” he agreed, apparently not realizing her apprehension was more due to mages than climate. “But I want to hear all about it when you get back. I know they don’t practice alchemy there, probably because it would be nearly impossible to cultivate most of the ingredients necessary, but what an amazing repository of knowledge! Even back in the Imperial City, the Arcane University recognizes the impressive education they offer and views it as a worthy institution for the instruction of magic. Their enchanting services are renowned throughout Skyrim, so if you wanted to study with someone who actually knew what they were doing, you could.”

“I’d rather study with you,” she retorted plainly. There was hardly a response to that. Instead, he sighed.

“I hope you’ll come back for a better reason next time, and I hope it won’t be too long of a wait. None of this visit was enjoyable, I’m afraid.”

“Are they going to keep Nurelion in the crypts?” she ventured.

Quintus shook his head. “The crypts in the Hall of the Dead are for Nords only. They don’t want to violate their ancestors or something. But they did provide a small plot in the cemetery for him. It seems that despite his…gruff…demeanor, the city valued his contributions despite him being an Altmer in the middle of the Stormcloak rebellion. He’ll have a tombstone and everything. I’m already wondering which flowers to plant on the grave. Nightshade grows well in this climate, but that is so overdone, and it has nearly exclusively toxic properties…”

Both Fjori and Lydia had to smile. “He’ll have the most practical grave in the cemetery, if not the most beautiful. That’s how he’d like it, wouldn’t he?”

“Right! He would be the one to encourage the use of his plot for cultivating ingredients. In fact, I told the priestess to commit his body to the fire because he never made his wishes known. His ashes will help whatever will grow there. It just…seemed like the right thing to do, the right thing for him.” Quintus finally smiled too, albeit tinged with melancholy. “But before I forget, there was a specific reason I came.”

“What, more than saying goodbye?” she quirked her eyebrow in confusion.

“A parting gift. I know it will help you far more than it will help me.” Before he could lose his nerve, Quintus reached into his satchel and withdrew the unmistakable form of the White Phial. She could hear its contents slosh around inside. “For one, I promised you a health potion to make up for the one I borrowed. I haven’t got the knowledge or the skill of the ancients who made the Phial, and I could only get it to replicate one type of liquid. Even before I asked you to bring that health potion to me, I’d decided that would be the most practical choice. When I shook the contents inside the container, I imprinted it. Now, every twenty four hours, you will have a potent healing potion at your disposal.”

Even though he held it out, she wouldn’t take it. “I can’t accept this, Quintus! This is a masterpiece of your own doing! It meant everything to your teacher!”

His next statement was not at all the defense she’d expected him to give. “Fjori, that’s exactly why I can’t keep this. This was Nurelion’s obsession. This thing was his life. It isn’t mine. I repaired it for him, and while it was an intriguing process and a huge boost to my confidence, it will always remind me of things I’d rather not remember about him." He would not tell Fjori this, but the honest truth was that he hated what Nurelion had turned into in his final days, all the bitter words the strain of the damaged relic had triggered. Things might have been very different if it wasn't for the Phial taunting him, probably for the better. No, that thing had no place in his life beyond the role it served in proving himself. Let him keep Nurelion's letter instead. "Trust me, you taking it will be doing me a favor.”

There was no argument against that. Gently, she reached out to grab it. “I guess if it helps you…”

Quintus shrugged, the sly smile she’d so desperately missed gracing his features. “Well, the other reason is actually that it will help YOU. What good does a replenishing health potion do me? Far better to be in the hands of one who fights trolls and bandits for a living, right?”

She laughed lightly. “Can’t argue that logic either.”

“Good. And of course, it is payment for all the help you’ve given. Three birds in one stone, as it were. But Fjori…” He paused, trying to figure out how exactly to express what he wanted to share.

“Yes?”

“Mostly…it’s the only way I can think of to help you. Keep you safe. Come back soon and in one piece, okay?” She was unprepared for the way he reached out to guide her chin down, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. Her head went fuzzy, and she barely registered his words to Lydia. “And you as well, Lydia. Thank you for everything. I hope to see you soon.”

“Of course, Quintus. Hang in there. You’ll be fine,” Lydia replied seriously, as was her way. The young man nodded and finally left them alone once more, flashing a pleased look at the way Fjori was rendered speechless before walking out.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Fjori didn’t saw a word as she followed Lydia from the inn to the city gates. With her Thane lost in her own thoughts, the housecarl had been the one to arrange for the carriage to take them to Winterhold. It was only once they were loaded up, seated, and on the road that Fjori pulled out the White Phial from her pouch. Her gloved thumb lovingly skimmed the smooth surface as if it were her lover’s face, particularly along the patched crack where Quintus had worked his magic. The corners of her mouth lifted in a goofy manner.

“Hmph, I suppose getting such a valuable and helpful artifact out of this trip made it worthwhile,” Lydia mused, but when Fjori looked up at her, she saw that telling grin on her face. Teasing yet again.

“Indeed. The only one like it known to man or mer, a fitting gift for the Dragonborn,” she replied mockingly. “And now we can think of him every time the potion inside saves our lives out in the field.”

Lydia leaned back, crossing her arms behind her head. “Well, I must admit, it’s hard to remain paranoid about ulterior motives when he offers up such a priceless treasure.”

Fjori nodded enthusiastically. “See? I told you he wasn’t using me! He must actually care about me a lot.” She seemed to radiate warmth at the thought, and no matter what Lydia would say to the contrary, she was glad to see her employer glow in such a way. She was also glad to be wrong in this case.

“And that kiss though…”

Now the warmth was coming from her face. “What about it? You wish a cute guy would kiss you all affectionately like that!”

This earned a rich laugh. “I finally got to see it with my own eyes! Now I believe it!” Fjori glared with minor annoyance, but this was ignored. “At any rate, it’s good that Quintus put you in such an upbeat mood before leaving for the College.”

“Yeah. Great. And it sounds like he wants me to bring him a souvenir…” Fjori grumbled, tucking the Phial back into the pouch. “He’d have a field day, I’m sure. I just hope I can figure out what’s going on, that they speak plainly, and that they keep their magic at a safe distance.”

“Hey, just get through this, and imagine visiting him as your reward for enduring such torment.”

Lydia may be joking, but Fjori was already planning when she would return to Windhelm next. It couldn’t be soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of one arc that I have planned, which basically gets Quintus where he needs to be to fully commit to a relationship. I plan on an interlude chapter or two, then have a second arc more focused on Fjori. Hey, this escalated quickly...


	9. Exothermic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjori hates the college, then goes and gets herself sick without any cure disease potions. Talk about a bad day. Good thing Quintus is there to pick her back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had a friend who has never seriously played Skyrim proof the story so far. It killed her because she hates slow burns... I should show her this chapter so she feels better.

“Oh my word, Lydia, did you see the way they glared at me today?” Fjori wailed as soon as the door to their shared room in the Hall of Attainment was safely closed.

“In their defense, it was pretty uncultured of you to take all their rare ingredients and throw them together blindly hoping for the best,” Lydia countered with a shake of her head. She’d thought Fjori would have learned by now to show a bit more restraint when it came to alchemical experiments given her time with Quintus, but apparently that part of her nature was not changing any time soon.

“They told me their resources were at my disposal. How was I supposed to know they were just being polite and actually had expectations for their use?” Fjori was quickly stripping off her armor for the night, and her helmet was flung to the ground in a huff, bouncing off the stone tiles.

Lydia wanted to retort that anyone with common sense would have picked up the hint, but she figured that would be pushing things too far. Fjori was clearly in a worked up state and didn’t need more provocation. “But besides that, they have been very helpful, haven’t they? They’ve given us information about the Elder Scroll, provided us a place to sleep…”

“They look at me like I’m growing a second head,” came the bitter rebuttal. Down went the gauntlets with another mighty clank.

“Again, to be fair, you and I were dressed in full suits of armor. It did look rather conspicuous in a room full of robed mages. Also, there is the fact that you declared yourself Dragonborn after doing battle with a dragon on their doorstep and absorbing its soul in front of a captive audience…”

“Well, how else was I supposed to get in? Man, if I wasn’t the Dragonborn, they’d never have let me cross that bridge. I honestly can’t believe they did even after knowing the truth. Something about the thu’um being a type of magic… No way, nothing like their type of magic. The thu’um was an ability possessed by elite Nord warriors in ages past, a blessing from Kyne herself, not some volatile combustion or cult daedra-summoning devised by milk-drinking elves!”

“SHHHH, my Thane, not so loud!” Lydia hissed, knitting her brows and double checking that the door was indeed latched. It was bizarre. Until now, she had never heard Fjori speak in this manner. Generally, she was accepting of all races, albeit unsure of how to handle certain situations given a lack of experience. Why, she would never say anything like this in front of her new friends in the Grey Quarter! The one area where she was always somewhat hesitant and cautious was the subject of magic, to be fair, but even when battling rogue conjurers she didn’t spout this kind of venom. It would appear that when under duress, her Nordic prejudices reared their ugly heads.

“Whatever. As soon as we find that Septimus Signus lunatic, we can get the location of that scroll and get on with stopping Alduin. Man, this is going to be horrible, judging by the quality of his crazed ravings in that book we had to read…”

By now, both women were dressed down to their simple tunics and trousers and ready to crawl into bed. Well, perhaps if Fjori wasn’t spitting fire. “My Thane, you are so on edge tonight. What has gotten into you?”

She was met with a loud snort. “What’s wrong with me? More like what’s wrong with them! They speak in riddles, like they just get a kick out of seeing my confused expression. Look at that stupid brute, let’s remind her why she doesn’t belong here. Hell, the only one in this entire college that makes any sense is the librarian. Capital fellow. Gave me a list of books I could retrieve for him. Sweet Akatosh, I can’t wait to get out of here!” Not even waiting to check and see if Lydia was ready, Fjori blew out the candle and buried herself under the covers. “The sooner we sleep, the sooner it will be morning, the sooner we can leave.”

All Lydia could do was blink. Sure, maybe Fjori was feeling somewhat out of place, but to react in such an explosive way… Perhaps she was simply feeling unwell and some sleep would remedy the situation. Divines, please let that be it. Sighing heavily, she rolled over and closed her eyes.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

“My Thane! Are you all right?!”

“I’ve been better,” the Nord growled, clutching a fresh wound on her leg. Typical, right above the boots and under the greaves… When she attempted to put weight on it, she let out a colorful curse.

“You should rest a moment and take a potion. We are in no hurry.” Despite her concern for Fjori, Lydia herself was looking worse for the wear. A large number of dwarven spiders had caught them unaware and didn’t go down without a fight. A fresh cut on her arm was evidence of that.

“You know it’s bad when I agree with your philosophy of being patient.” Hobbling, Fjori maneuvered to a fallen pillar, intricately carved with Dwemer symbols and embellished with golden inlay. All the work they’d put into designing it, and now it was little more than a bench for a crippled ruin-raider… She immediately went for the White Phial, uncorked it, and took a long drink. “This is why I never go into Dwemer ruins as a general rule. Too many horror stories. Just give me an enemy that confronts you head on, like a Forsworn or a cave bear, not these stupid creeping contraptions that just pop out of walls when you least expect them.”

“Wait, so you’ve never entered a Dwemer ruin before?” This seemed to genuinely surprise Lydia, who joined Fjori on the pillar.

She shook her head emphatically. “No way. Too many people go in that never come back out. Better to leave that old elven technology where it lies. I’ve spoken to other mercenaries before, heard about these great big metal warriors they’ve got…centurions I think. Look like statues until you get too close, then they come to life with a great hiss of steam as soon as your back is turned. How are you supposed to fight something like that with a sword or arrow?”

“So that means we really are going in blind,” the warrior frowned in concern. “We’ve barely gotten through this initial tower and already are having problems. Who knows how many enemies lie inside the ruins themselves?”

“Too many.” With a grunt, she got to her feet. She still wasn’t feeling one hundred percent, but it was certainly passable. “I guess at least we know what to look out for now. Be on your guard.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice!”

The duo pushed on ahead, narrowly avoiding floor saws and flame-throwers while getting the jump on more mechanized defenses. All along the way, Fjori picked up as much scrap metal as possible. When Lydia complained about carrying it all, she explained to her follower that this metal could not be recreated, as the secret was lost with the Dwemer, and was worth quite a bit for crafting armor. As a competent smith, she could fashion herself something a bit sturdier than the steel armor she currently owned. That was enough to convince Lydia to shoulder the cumbersome burden.

After much longer than they’d expected, they finally came upon a door. “Main ruins?” Lydia wondered.

“Honestly, I hope not,” Fjori admitted. When Lydia gave her a confused glance, she shrugged. “I’m not feeling so great, and it’s not the leg wound. It would be foolhardy to go too far in in this state.”

“So if it doesn’t lead back outside, we turn back?” Fjori nodded soberly. “Perhaps a cure disease potion would…”

“We don’t have any. I used the last one while fighting off that pack of wolves out in the tundra. Rockjoint is such a pain. There was nowhere around to restock, and I didn’t think we’d have to worry about it in a Dwemer ruin. Everything is made of metal here. How the hell could this have happened…”

Lydia fought down the panic. “Maybe it’s not that. We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

Slight dizziness. Swelling at the site of infection. And the sensation of being hot was definitely not because of the flamethrowers. “This feeling reminds me of that time in Bleak Falls Barrow when I got the gangrene.”

“Umm, that nearly killed you back then!”

“Right, so we need to get going, just to be safe.” Seeing Lydia get jumpy made her nerves flair up too. Closing the conversation, she pushed open the door, only to be hit in the face with a cold gust of wind. She had never been so thankful to feel her face going numb.

They were on top of a massive glacier, the remains of a buried explorer’s camp still poking out of the snow. Any other day, Lydia would have suggested they make camp in the remnants of the abandoned shack and try again tomorrow, but even she could see the pallor of Fjori’s face in the afternoon sun. “Where is the nearest town?” she demanded of her thane.

“Windhelm.” When Lydia raised a suspicious eyebrow, Fjori held up her hands defensively. “I’m not just saying that, for the record. Winterhold has nothing to help, and I don’t know the way to Dawnstar from here. Plus, we know for a fact that there is someone in Windhelm that will be able to help. If we take the Wayward Pass, we’ll make it by nightfall.”

“If you’re still standing,” Lydia reminded grimly.

“Less talk, more move then.” Fjori took off in the direction of the pass, leaving Lydia scrambling to catch up.

They only paused their flight once to pray at the shrine to Arkay located within the pass. The divine’s blessing fortified her health enough that she was able to make it to Anga’s Mill on foot, though just barely. That was the end of the line; her legs had become too unstable to carry her weight further, especially the infected one. Anga had not forgotten her help during a previous encounter, and readily loaned a cart for Fjori to ride in as soon as Lydia explained the situation in a broken narrative. Not a single complaint passed her lips as she took up the handles and hauled it down the steep road to Windhelm at a brisk pace, careful not to go so fast that it would jostle the ailing passenger. She would not let her Thane down now, and more than that, she would not let anything happen to her friend.

The path that normally felt like a brief jaunt now felt like the entire expanse of Skyrim. Fjori was uncharacteristically quiet, a very worrisome sign indeed. Had she fallen unconscious? Lydia glanced back several times along the way, though said nothing to break the spell of the groaning wood or the clatter of wheels against the pavers of the road. Despite her sickly complexion, Fjori appeared to simply be asleep, curled into a tight ball. Of course, with the sun lowering on the horizon, it was becoming harder and harder to judge her condition. All the while, Lydia went through every possible option within Windhelm for healing. The temples might offer healing, but given what she knew of the eccentric priestess of Arkay and the militant priestess of Talos, she had her doubts. Then the only other place one would go for healing would be…of course. No one would work harder to fix her up, Lydia mused with a grim smile as she passed through the city gates.

And so they arrived in an unconventional manner to the White Phial yet again. Most of the people had cleared from the marketplace as the sun sank beyond the horizon, but the few onlookers openly gawked at the scene they made. Lydia didn’t particularly give a damn what they thought; all she could focus on was saving Fjori. She set the cart down gently, and then with a loud thump she banged on the locked door to the shop. “Quintus! It’s Lydia and Fjori, open up!”

When she stilled her knocking, she could hear footsteps hurry to the door, then the click of a bolt sliding out of place. The door was flung open and she could see the shock on Quintus’s face, no doubt because they were back so soon after their recent departure, and also probably that Lydia was the one he saw first. “Lydia? What’s wrong?” Nervous green eyes darted back and forth, searching. “Where’s Fjori?” Stepping back to reveal Fjori’s miserable huddled from resting in the cart, she watched as the alchemist’s face blanched. “What happened? Can I move her?”

“She’s sick,” Lydia explained helplessly as she moved to roll Fjori face-up and grab her under the armpit. The movement roused her, causing her to groan in annoyance, but she refused to open her eyes. Quintus rushed to mirror Lydia’s action until Fjori was lifted out of the cart and resting heavily on their shoulders. Well, mostly resting on Lydia’s shoulders with some support on his end to keep her upright. A full-grown Nord woman in full armor was HEAVY. “Something in a Dwemer ruin must have infected her, and we have no cure disease potions left.”

“Gangrene,” he declared seriously. “Most people associate it with draugr, but ancient Dwemer implements also carry it. How long has it been since she started showing symptoms?” Even as they spoke, they hauled her into the shop and in the direction of the storage room.

“She got the cut this morning, and started complaining about not feeling well by early afternoon. We headed back as soon as she knew something was off.”

Lydia didn’t expect the urgency to melt away from his expression. “Then it shouldn’t be a problem. If it had been this bad for over twenty four hours, we would have had a real emergency on our hands. As it is, this will be easily cured with the appropriate potion, a thorough cleaning of the wound, and bedrest. She looks worse than she actually is at this point.” Gently they eased her onto the bed that had once belonged to him and spun her legs so she was lying in the right direction. “I’ll go fetch what I need while you get her out of her armor.” Lydia nodded as he strode purposefully out of the room, marveling at how different a man he seemed when not under Nurelion’s shadow. Then again, maybe he was just a different man when Fjori needed his help.

When he returned with a few different flasks and rags, he found Fjori’s armor littering the ground against the wall and Lydia bent over his patient, coaxing her awake. “My Thane, you need to wake up and take your medicine.”

“Where are we?” she mumbled, clearly in a stupor. She barely opened her eyes. 

“Where else? In Windhelm. Look over there,” Lydia insisted, pointing at Quintus. Slowly her head lolled to the side, and after a few blinks, her puzzled expression morphed into surprise.

“Quintus?”

“Yes, I’m right here. I’m going to take care of you. Are you ready to take your potion?” he asked softly, kneeling at the bedside next to her.

What happened next was not the reaction he expected. Her face crumpled. “I’m so sorry…”

“Huh?”

“I’m so stupid…how can you stand me?” A tear escaped, and then another.

Quintus looked up at Lydia with a bewildered expression. She looked just as bewildered. “Umm, Lydia, I’m going to need some warm water to wash the infected wound. Would you mind heating some upstairs and bringing it to me?”

“Sure,” she agreed tentatively, clearly hesitant to miss what was happening. Only after he mouth the words ‘talk later’ did she feel reassured enough to leave the room.

Finally alone, he turned his attention back to a sniffling Fjori. “Drink this first, and then we’ll talk, okay?” Before she could argue, he propped her up against his shoulder, held the open flask to her lips, and carefully poured it into her mouth. She swallowed without a fuss, though it was difficult to do so with the tiny spasms her distress was causing. He tenderly wiped any stray drops from her lips with his rough thumb. “That’s better. Now with some rest, you’ll be as good as new, and back to finding artifacts…”

This statement triggered an adverse reaction as she began to bawl in earnest. “How can you care about someone as dumb as I am? You’re so smart! You’d understand everything they said, and all I can do is…smash some machines and get sick from it because…I was too worked up to take my time and restock…just an idiot brute…” By now she was hiccupping between sobs as hot tears splattered across her feverish cheeks.

“Fjori, I think you are delirious,” he attempted, at a complete loss. Fjori was Dragonborn, a great hero and a far cry from some simple-minded sword-arm. Where was all this self-hatred coming from? “You’re not making much sense. We can talk about it in the morning, but right now, we need to…” He tried to ignore the weight of her senseless words and rub her arms to soothe her, but to no avail. The stream of consciousness just continued to flow.

“You won’t want me!” she blurted, body convulsing at the statement. “A woman as dull as me, there’s no way you could ever love me…”

And Quintus had heard enough, delirious as she was or not. Without thinking, he moved in front of her, leaned down, screwed his eyes shut, and resolutely pressed his mouth against hers to silence her doubts. It didn’t even matter that he had absolutely no idea what to do next, having neither experience with passionate kissing nor even a woman he’d loved enough to consider what it would be like; he just held his mouth there, head tilted so his nose didn’t smash into hers, and willed all his emotions to come through with this meeting of their lips. He was hyper-sensitive to her reactions in case she took offense to the act, so he noticed Fjori still beneath him. While she didn’t seem to reciprocate, she didn’t push him away either. It made him entirely unsure whether his action was appropriate or not, and so he nervously pulled away to study her face for a sign.

Despite tear-stained cheeks, her crying seemed to fizzle out after the kiss had dampened it. “Q-Quintus?” His name was a fragile question, her voice unsteady and confused, and he knew the real question she wanted to ask was ‘why?’.

“I really don’t like hearing you talk like that,” he replied lamely, turning away to grab a rag. Then, he blotted the moisture from her face. Her eyes were glued to him, and he refused to look away, determined to show her the sincerity behind the action. “You remember what you told me before, right? Something like ‘whether you’re at your best or your worst, you won’t scare me away? Well, that goes for you too, you know. I don’t know what happened, but I’m not going to leave you.”

“Umm, Quintus…was that a good idea? I mean, with me being sick?” she wondered, seemingly ignoring what he had considered to be clever wording. His motions froze with this out-of-the-blue observation.

“…probably not… Excuse me a moment.” With that familiar blush, he got up and went for the spare bottle of cure disease potion he’d brought along just in case. Technically, they hadn’t exchanged any saliva or anything during that weak excuse for a kiss, but no way was he going to risk it. As he chugged down the potion, he was grateful he’d thought ahead and didn’t need to explain to Lydia why he was out in the shop pickup up another one. “Umm, thanks for pointing that out.” He gave an awkward laugh while setting down the empty bottle. “And I’m supposed to be the professional…”

“Quintus,” she insisted, again ignoring him. Her puffy eyes were quickly drifting closed in exhaustion, both physical and emotional.

“Yes, Fjori?” He let the back of his right hand rest against her forehead, feeling for a fever. She was still a bit too hot for his liking, and he was already planning for a cool, damp cloth.

“When I’m better…will you kiss me like that again?”

His hand trailed down to caress her cheek. “Of course.”

“I’d like that.” With a sigh, she tilted her head against his palm and drifted off to sleep.

Quintus, for his part, hated to pull his hand away. He’d been so wrapped up with his own drama that any desire to touch her, hold her, kiss her, had been buried under obligations and duties. Now it was hitting him full force. Despite her mussed hair, cold sweat, tears, and untreated wound (which he really needed to get to work on), she was beautiful in her vulnerability. It was not a condition he had seen her in before, and it touched something deep inside of him.

“Er-hrm.” Quintus tore his eyes off the peaceful woman and to the source of the noise. Lydia stood in the doorway bearing a bowl of steaming water. “I see you go her to calm down?”

“Yeah.” Carefully, he eased his hand out from under her so her cheek met the pillow instead. “She was spouting all kinds of crazy talk and getting extremely worked up. Do you have any idea why, or was she just feverish?”

Lydia tip-toed over to the bed and set the bowl down on an end-table. “She’s been on edge ever since we went to the college. But I’m sure she’ll tell you what’s eating at her before she tells me.”

“I see.” With a frown, he looked down her body to the ripped fabric of her trousers. A healing potion had sealed the wound shut, but little else. “I don’t suppose you have any experience cleaning wounds?”

Lydia shook her head. “I know how to bandage them up, but cleaning them is not one of my strongest skills.”

Quintus swallowed hard. “I guess that means I’ll have to be the one to…ummm…” He turned bright red. “Will you take her pants off and cover her up so I can work?”

Lydia almost burst out laughing, and the only reason she held it in was the fact that Fjori was finally asleep. “By the Nine, Quintus, you’re the one who’s got a thing for her! You should be jumping at the chance to remove her clothes!”

“I have a sense of decency!” he sniffed in annoyance, grabbing a rag and dipping it in the water. “Just do it, will you?”

“Fine, fine. Besides, I think your sense of decency is why she likes you so much.” With a wink, Lydia began to unfasten the trousers.

Quintus turned away immediately, focusing on vigorously wringing out the cloth. So he and Lydia were on teasing terms now… Ah well, that should be taken as a compliment, he figured. More importantly, Fjori apparently liked his moral conduct. That was good; he wasn’t sure what else he was able to offer. This would make for an interesting conversation tomorrow when she was in her right mind.


	10. For Every Action...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of things need to be established. As always, awkwardness happens as it gets resolved.

When her eyes fluttered open, they were greeted by the muted sunlight filtering in through small, dirty windows. The beams of light revealed particles of dust dancing on some draft of air. It was still rather dark. And empty. Wooden beams and stone walls. Plenty of cobwebs too, draped in corners and across crates. Where the hell was she? Even though mercenaries like her slept in different beds all the time, it was unusual for her not to recall where she’d stopped to rest for the night. As she drew a deep breath to focus her thoughts, she caught a faint whiff of flowers among the damp, earthy smells of the room. A building with flowers? Wait, this place seemed familiar…

Finally, she threw the covers off of herself, prepared to get up and investigate. That was when she finally noticed the bandage wrapped snugly around her left thigh, and her unanticipated lack of pants. An injury… And with that realization, it came back all at once: Dwemer spiders, gangrene, being brought to Windhelm in a cart designed to carry firewood. Fever, fear, and gentle hands comforting her. The faintest hint of the tangy cure disease potion on her lips. And speaking of lips… She inhaled sharply and pressed a hand to her mouth. Had his lips on hers been real, or a dream?

More determined than ever, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and struggled to her feet while gritting her teeth and putting most of her weight on her right side. It wasn’t painful as much as it was sore, nothing she couldn’t bear as long as she took it easy. Her long tunic covered most of what it needed to, but she was grateful to see someone had thought to leave a new pair of trousers for her on the end table. If only putting them on didn’t prove to be such a challenge with her less than limber left leg!

Finally satisfied after winning the struggle with the pants, she limped to the doorway of the room, verifying as she looked around that she was indeed in the store room of the White Phial. She’d eaten dinner here that one time, though it had been much darker then. So where were Quintus and Lydia? It was hard to imagine either leaving her alone. Stepping through the doorway, she found herself behind the counter of the shop. It was so much brighter out there, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust. Even then, it wasn’t until she hobbled around the corner of the counter that she realized with a start his silent presence in the room.

He was seated at the table near the window, on the side closest to the store room wall where he was particularly hard to spot. The young man was slumped over so his head was resting on his folded arms on the tabletop, facing the center of the room. His breathing was heavy, but quiet, and the only motion of his body was the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders with each inhale and exhale. His eyelids were closed, framed by light red lashes. He was fast asleep. At this time of day?

At that moment, her stomach growled loudly. Though it probably wasn’t true, it felt as though it echoed in the stillness, and she clutched her midsection as if to quiet it down. She was relieved to notice it hadn’t so much as stirred him from his deep slumber. She was so relieved, in fact, that she forgot about her injured leg with her next step.

“Augh!” Her leg collapsed underneath her as she put too much weight on it. In a desperate bid to brace herself on the counter, she only managed to knock over a few display bottles, sending them crashing and shattering, spilt contents pooling on the wooden floor. She followed with a loud ‘thud’.

That was enough to jolt the shopkeeper awake with a rush of adrenaline. “MASTER! I’M AWAKE!” he blurted as he jumped, banging his knee hard against the table. “Owwwww!” Just as soon as his head had bolted up, it was back down on the table as he recoiled from the pain, clutching his knee and groaning. “I stayed up all night again, I’m sorry…”

“Quintus!” He summoned his strength and pried one eye open to find the source of the distinctly feminine voice which was definitely not Nurelion. He gasped when he realized it was Fjori, and that she was lying on the floor amid a mess of glass shards and liquid. Disorientation quickly evaporated.

“Fjori! Are you all right?” He attempted to get up and rush to her side, but nearly hit the ground as well when the throbbing bump on his knee screamed in protest.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you or cause this mess or…” she began to apologize profusely with wide eyes.

“Just don’t move, I don’t want you to cut yourself on the glass. I’ll get a broom and sweep this up first.” With as much dignity as he could muster with an uneven gait, he scurried past her to the area under the stairs where he kept most of his cleaning supplies. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I must have fallen asleep. I was supposed to be keeping an eye on you while you are recovering.” He began to sweep the shards onto a scrap of cloth so they could be picked up safely. “How long have you been up?”

“Not very long. I just got up to look for you and Lydia, but I guess I should have just stayed in bed instead of causing trouble…” The look on her face was unsettling, as if she were a disobedient child deserving of reprimand. Where in the world did she get such an idea?

“No, I’m the one who’s supposed to be taking care of you. Your leg isn’t fully healed yet.” With the glass safely packed up, he grabbed another rag to mop up the puddles. “I just got so into my work last night, I didn’t sleep at all. Nurelion used to catch me doing that all the time, and I’d gotten a good smack upside the head for it more than once. You see, that’s why I jumped the way I did when I heard the crash.” He flashed a sad smile, and it reminded her that all her problems aside, he was still struggling to cope with Nurelion’s death. It really hadn’t been that long at all.

Fjori pushed herself up. “I suppose if you wouldn’t have hurt yourself, it would have been pretty funny,” she supplied. “You were out cold.”

“Hmph. Good thing Lydia wasn’t here to see it then, right? She’d never let me forget it! Do you know she’s started teasing ME now?” Rising and tossing the rag away, he held out his hand. “Come on Fjori, let’s get you back on your feet.”

“You might need two hands,” she muttered bashfully. “I surely weigh more than you.” 

“All in muscle mass, I’m certain,” he remarked, extending his other hand and looking on expectantly. Swallowing, she braced herself on her good leg and offered her own hands. To be fair, it did take quite an effort on Quintus’s part and a clever application of physics to haul her up, but before long she standing once more, looking down those few inches at him.

Because they were so close together, it was all the more embarrassing when her stomach growled again, even louder and angrier this time. Before she could decide how to react, he tapped his forehead with his palm. “Of course, you must be starving! You probably haven’t eaten in 24 hours. Come sit over here. I have some horker stew warming on the coals upstairs; I’ll fetch you a bowl.” Positioning himself on her weaker side, he linked his arm in hers and escorted her to the chair opposite where he had been sitting. Then, like a perfect gentleman, he moved the chair out so she could sit, and pushed it back in. Or, at least attempted to. It really only moved an inch or so. “I’ll be right back.”

As he turned to go, she grabbed his arm. “Please serve yourself some as well. I bet if you were working all night you haven’t eaten anything in a long while either.”

The edge of concern in her voice and eyes made his stomach do flips. After all, this was one of the reasons he’d fallen for her to begin with: the fact that she always noticed him even when he was no one. All he could do was nod and rush upstairs.

A few minutes later, he returned balancing two steaming bowls of soup garnished with thick slices of bread. Despite herself, her mouth watered as the smell of savory cooked meat wafted in her direction. “You didn’t make this, did you?”

“Well, yes. Last night. Sometimes when I’m thinking of a solution to a problem it helps to do chores or something. I knew we’d need to eat sooner or later,” he admitted as he placed the bowls on the table.

“It smells amazing. I guess you can work magic with food ingredients just as well as alchemical ingredients, huh?”

He blushed at the compliment. “I’m sure it’s not that great. You’re just hungry.”

“Definitely.” She smiled and looked down at the soup. There was a long pause. Was it just him, or was she trying not to crack a smile?

Finally, it occurred to him. “Come on, Fjori, when were you going to mention you wanted a spoon with that?” he groaned. “You just like watching me stand here like a fool!”

“It was an experiment,” she admitted playfully.

He gave an exasperated sigh as he marched back to the stairs. “I’ll bring something to drink with the spoons. Anything else I’m forgetting?”

But Fjori’s mouth was already full with bread seeped in broth, and she shrugged nonchalantly. He had to chuckle as he turned and went back up. Strange, he used to feel so inadequate when making scatter-brained mistakes. Something about her made him feel like it was the most natural thing in the world and put him at ease.

Little was said as both devoured the stew. Quintus may not have had a rumbling stomach, but he had been plenty hungry. When he thought about it, he had missed dinner last night due to Fjori’s unexpected arrival in addition to skipping breakfast. Was hunger what made the stew taste even better, or the fact that there was company to eat it with?

She finished first, and as he took the last few spoonfuls, he noticed her watching him curiously. When he tried to meet her eyes, she looked away shyly. She was thinking of something, and if he had to guess, it had to do with his stunt last night. He’d put that conversation off long enough. Finally, he patted his mouth clean with his napkin while considering his words carefully. “Now that you’ve eaten, perhaps it’s time to talk. I know we left some things unsaid last night.”

Talk. Oh. She felt her stomach plummet, and hoped that her nerves would not make lunch come right back out. “I…don’t remember exactly what was said last night…”

“What do you remember?” he pressed patiently, leaning against the table.

Fjori licked her lips nervously. “I remember you kissed me. Like, really kissed me.”

“Ah.” He flushed. “I hope that’s a good memory at least. It really wasn’t very well done.”

“I remember liking it. Or maybe it’s just that I like the thought of it.” She traced some imaginary design on the table with her index finger. “But I also remember wondering why you did it.”

He exhaled long and slow. “You were very upset last night. You said a lot of disparaging things about yourself that were absolutely not true. When I talked to Lydia about it, she said she’d noticed you were worked up even before everything happened, but she didn’t know why. Fjori, would you tell me what was going on? I’m worried about you.” There was a pause. “Actually, to be fair, we both are.”

She felt her dry throat constrict. What a moron she had been, enjoying the sense of domesticity as he cared for her instead of accepting that things would never be that way in the long run. The breath she drew was shaky. “I went to the college to get information, right?”

“Yeah. You mentioned you were hesitant to go.”

“Because I have a hard time trusting mages. But that really wasn’t the problem. The problem was that… Well, for starters they never would have let me in if that dragon wouldn’t have attacked so I could demonstrate my shouts and prove myself Dragonborn. Only people who know spells can enter, and I didn’t know any.”

“So your shouts count as magic?”

“That’s what the court wizard in Whiterun told me. It must be true, because they made an exception for me. So, when they did let me in, I didn’t belong there are all; I’ve never cast a spell in my life. Everyone looked at me funny. I could hear the whispers. I tried to ignore it, to just get the information and get out, but they insisted on showing me around like I was going to be a member of their college or something. That made it worse, because then people thought I was serious about joining. They had a nice alchemy lab, so I tried to take my mind off things by doing experiments, but a lot of them didn’t work. People were annoyed with me for wasting supplies and being careless…”

“Not going to lie, that doesn’t surprise me. In fact, that sounds just like how Nurelion would have reacted!” He said this with a gentle smile, completely accepting of this deficiency in the woman across from him, but Fjori just ducked her head.

“But then it got worse. The next evening they dragged me to the lecture hall for a class. All the other new students were gung-ho to start crazy new tricks, and I was the only one who wanted to focus on safety first. They glared at me. I heard them mutter under their breaths how I was a wimp. And when we started working on wards, the teacher tried to teach me a spell so he could test it out, only I couldn’t maintain it long enough for him to zap me with anything at all. I could feel their angry eyes on me the whole time. It was awful…” Her vision was becoming blurry. Fantastic. Crying again.

“So you were doing something new that you’ve never done before. I don’t understand why that makes you ‘stupid’, Fjori. I understand why you feel frustrated, and it sounds like they didn’t treat you very kindly, but you’re not…”

“I HAD NO IDEA WHAT THEY WERE TALKING ABOUT!” she exclaimed, a hot tear rolling down her cheek. “I got these huge long lectures about these Elder Scrolls I need and the only thing I got out of the entire explanation was the name of a ruin to find one in. I don’t understand what they are, what they do, how to use them, or anything else, but they kept talking at me like I was supposed to get it. It was all complete gibberish! I’ve never felt so stupid! Like I’m the Dragonborn, it’s supposed to magically make sense to me!”

When she glanced up, fully expecting thinly-veiled disgust, all she saw was the way his features softened from puzzled to concerned. “Okay, I think I’m starting to see. But now explain to me why feeling unintelligent means I can’t possibly care about you.”

Hearing those words from his mouth, even though not at all in the right context, made another string of tears fall to the table. She responded with a tiny voice. “You’re so smart. You were able to fix an ancient relic no one has ever been able to recreate! You devour books and run experiments and study other disciplines and I’m just…me. I can’t even get a potion that works half the time, and that’s an improvement! I can’t get through even one page of an academic text. All those things you are passionate about, I’ll never be able to understand. I’d be a horrible companion for you, don’t you see? It was fine before, when you didn’t really know much about me, but now you must understand that I’d never be good enough for you.” While not nearly dramatic as last night, she began to sniffle once more, turning her head away so he wouldn't look at her.

And again, things started to click in his mind. “Fjori, look at me.” It seemed to take all her strength to obey his command, decidedly grey eyes looking in his general direction but never focusing on his face. “Someone sometime told you you were stupid, and somehow you came to believe them. You, Fjori, grew up in one of the smallest, poorest towns in Skyrim, and yet you blame your lack of interest in spells and books and science on a lack of brain capacity? That’s not at all true. No ‘idiot’ would survive all the crypts and tombs you have; there are traps and puzzles to solve that would kill lesser adventurers. And an idiot wouldn’t be able to pick up the basic tenets of enchanting in one short afternoon of practice. An idiot certainly wouldn’t have been able to stop a serial killer. Your intelligence lies in different areas, but that doesn’t make it any less.”

When she couldn’t get any words to come out in response, he just continued. “You know what else? I could see you and me sitting here over dinner with me babbling about something I discovered and you frowning in concentration trying to keep up as my mind goes a million miles a minute until I finally realize, stop, and laugh that I’m getting carried away again. You’d smile, roll your eyes, and sum it up in a short sentence, then tell me to get eating before it gets cold. I can’t presume to know how you feel about a future like that, Fjori, but I imagine I’d be very happy having you with me even if my academic jargon means little to nothing to you. Could you be happy like that?”

Could she? Loving a man whose interests and background were vastly different than her own? Honestly, she’d known that wide gap existed from the day she'd first laid eyes on him, and clearly it hadn’t stopped the progression of any feelings whatsoever. The things that mattered she’d found he possessed in large quantities. She wiped her eyes roughly. “Only if I can get revenge by telling you the gruesome gory details of my latest raid on a bandit camp.”

He chuckled. “Maybe not ‘gory’ while we’re eating, but I do love your stories. It’s another talent of yours, the way you can draw the listener in. In fact, I bet the Bard’s college would be a much better fit for you than the College of Winterhold.”

“So…you really don’t mind that I have no academic abilities?” she persisted dubiously. “It’s fine that I won’t be able to understand everything you talk about?”

Quintus frowned. “Do you remember what you asked of me before you fell asleep last night?”

She swallowed hard. Could she dare even repeat her absurd request? “I had the nerve to ask you to kiss me again.”

She jumped when his chair slid back. “I think you’re more a woman of actions than of words, and I’m usually the opposite. But if it means winning you, I’m willing to change my habits to a degree. Tell me, Fjori, does it matter to me?” And with two strides so he was standing before her, he leaned down and met her mouth again. This time, his hands threaded through her messy hair, holding her head there possessively. He didn’t move tongue, lips, or teeth; he didn’t know how to. All the same, he felt her sigh into his mouth and melt into his body. Despite her physical response, however, she broke away, causing a wave of anxiety to flood his system. Had he played it wrong?

“No.” She licked her lips and shook her head shyly.

“Oh… I’m sorry, I…” He let go instantly, feeling mortified.

“Wait, what are you doing?” she questioned anxiously. When she didn’t see the spark of understanding in his features, she continued. “You asked me if I thought it mattered to you! I said ‘no’!”

Realization washed over him, leaving him embarrassed for a completely different reason. “I…umm…I guess I forgot I asked that question…or maybe I didn’t think you were actually going to answer that…” he scratched his head awkwardly.

Her smile in response was radiant. “I love you, Quintus Navale.” His eyes widened in shock, but before he could process those precious words, she was on him this time, and she wasn’t nearly as clueless as he was.

The blissful moment of sparks and vibrant emotions was short lived. A sharp rap on glass startled the couple apart, and when they jerked their heads in the direction of the window, they saw a very smug Lydia grinning at them.

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I don't know how to write a kiss?


	11. New Findings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round two of Dwemer expeditions, except now Quintus is a nervous wreck. Also, through Quintus headlong into politics because I can't imagine this wouldn't happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire second half of this chapter is a rewrite from my original posting. I added some minor sub-plot to keep our favorite alchemist busy, because honestly, I could see the scenario being very realistic. Also, he's not going to sit around going, "Oh gee, she's going to save the world." Not his style at all.

Quintus was asleep at his table again when the clatter of metal woke him. Considering how foreign the sound was to his ears, it took several moments for him to process where he was, and then several more for his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the oil lamp and locate the source. The noises he perceived were coming both from the storage room and upstairs where Fjori and Lydia respectively had crashed for the night. They were most likely donning their armor. A sense of inexplicable dread filled him; they were going into that danger yet again. Still, he didn’t get up to investigate, to beg and plead that they just stay the way the selfish side of him desperately wanted to. Instead, he waited to see what they planned to do.

Fjori finished first, stepping into the main room with her loaded pack so the tiny flicker of the flames bounced off the golden suit of armor she wore head to toe. Surely she wasn’t going for stealth, as each step she took in the heavy apparel may as well have been a bell ringing to wake everyone in the place. Still, he waited and watched, pretending to be asleep.

“I know you’re awake, Quintus,” she murmured softly. “I make way too much noise for you to still be sleeping, even as exhausted as I know you are.”

Caught, he grunted and propped his head up. “Fair enough. I take it you and Lydia are about ready to head out?”

“Mmm-hmm.” As if on cue, Lydia trudged down the stairs, joining the pair. 

“Are you certain you are ready to go? It’s only been a day…” It was evident Quintus was worried about the fitness of his patient the way he’d been constantly fussing over her. Touching as it was, for a usually independent woman, it was becoming a bit much.

“Yes, well, under your expert care, I’m perfectly healed now. Besides, I don’t think Lydia or I can remain sitting around for much longer before somebody snaps.”

That wasn’t much of an exaggeration. The prior day while Fjori and Quintus had been having their big heart-to-heart, Lydia had, for lack of anything better to do, been melting down Dwemer scrap metal for ingots at the smelter. All afternoon, Fjori had planted herself by the forge in the marketplace and worked the metal into upgraded weapons and armor to better handle the upcoming trip to Alftand. Lydia went shopping for supplies. Fjori brewed some more potions and sold the extra loot they’d acquired. By their standards, this was still a very quiet day, though Quintus would have argued otherwise. There really wasn’t anything else left to occupy their time in Windhelm.

“But it’s so early…” The sun had not yet risen, the morning was so young. There was no way he would have caught them leaving without the noise of their armor.

“We’ve gotten a lot more sleep than usual lately,” Lydia pointed out. Then, she added “Granted, at the expense of your sleep.”

“At least have some breakfast…”

“I want to get to Alftand by mid-morning so there is plenty of time to get through the ruins without needing to sleep inside. That’s a huge no-no for adventurers,” she explained to the alchemist.

“I know, I know. I just…” He bit his lip. “You really scared me this last time, you know?”

What a change, to have someone worry about her safety. Fjori’s parents had practically pushed her out the door on the road to becoming a sell-sword. That was Nord parenting in a nutshell though, wasn’t it? Before she could reassure him, Lydia interrupted. “Quintus, you know I like you. You are a good guy, and you bring out the best in Fjori. However, I will not let you get in the way of what we need to do. Her missions as Dragonborn come above all else, unless you are keen on the world ending.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…wait. What? World ending?!” In a split second, Quintus went from looking like a kicked puppy to the very image of confusion.

“You didn’t know that’s what the Dragonborn exists for?” Lydia asked skeptically.

Now he was sitting straight up. “In Cyrodiil, they just kept a pact with Akatosh to keep the daedra out. Definitely heroic and life-saving, but not on that level!” He turned to Fjori, shoulders slumping in resignation, and couldn’t quite meet her eye. “Is that true? Is that the mission you have?” Fjori swallowed, then nodded silently. “I see…” He looked down to study the table. “Then I really shouldn’t keep you. I’d hate to be responsible for the end of the world. Let me just…”

“Quintus, listen to me,” she begged, dropping her pack and getting down on her knees so she was kneeling at his side. He readily turned his gaze back to her, eager for anything she might say to make this better. “You know I have the blood of a dragon, and the powers to go with it. They say I’m supposed to kill the original dragon, Alduin, or else he will devour the world. When I first met you, I honestly didn’t know. It wasn’t until right before you summoned me that it was revealed to me. As much as I hate to say it, Lydia is right about this, even if I don’t like it either.”

“So all that stuff I said yesterday…” He didn’t say it, but he looked absolutely crushed, as if that future he’d described were ripped from his grasp.

“It means everything to me. I’ll kill Alduin, and then I’ll come back to you. Now, I have more of a reason than ever to succeed. And you know what else?” She reached up with a gauntleted hand to pull his face closer to hers until their foreheads rested against each other. Why was she always so impossibly warm? And why did it make his heart race? “I’m ready now, in ways I wasn’t before. I have enough potions, better armor, I know more of what to expect for traps and machines… More than that though, you’ve helped me to get my head on straight again. This mission won’t be easy, but I feel far stronger this time than I did last time. It’s because I had you.”

“Yes, well, there is one more thing I can do.” He pulled away and rose to his feet. She watched attentively as he walked over to and behind the counter, , withdrawing two small red phials from underneath and placing them on top of the counter with a resolute ‘clink’. “You know how I said I was up all night working on a project? This was it. For you and Lydia both to take on your mission. To keep you safe.”

Fjori tilted her head. “You made a new kind of a potion?”

“Well, it seemed to me that one should be able to prevent disease before it happened, the way one can build resistance to elements or poison from alchemy. I played around with items that cured disease as well as fortified health and resisted poison until I came up with a mixture that held. I don’t know how well this will work, as I haven’t really had a way to test its effectiveness, but at the very least it won’t kill you when you drink it.” He paused, sighing. “You’ll have to be sure to report its success back to me, all right?”

“Of course!” She nodded to Lydia, and both women approached to grab their own phial.

“Drink it right before you go in; I don’t expect it will last much more than 24 hours. I trust you have plenty of cure disease potions packed just in case?”

“Yes sir!” she reported with a small smile.

“And healing potions?”

“Plenty.”

“And enough food for the road? I can get you some…”

“More than enough. You’ve done everything possible,” Lydia assured. Unlike the last time, however, her tone was gentle rather than defensive; the poor guy was really trying hard. “There is no way to be any more prepared than we are now.”

“Very well then. Just…as soon as you get out with that scroll, send word to me. I won’t be able to rest until I know both of you are…”

“I’ll do one better!” Fjori declared, reaching out to put her weighted arms around his neck despite the counter between them. “I’ll come right back and tell you to your face.”

“And not wheeled here in a cart…”

“No way. Not this time.”

“Okay.” He drew a deep breath, and exhaled; both women could just imagine him letting the whole thing go. “Go do what you do best then.”

“And you don’t lose too much sleep over this, okay? I know I freaked you out last time, but 9 missions out of 10 don’t go that badly, so…”

“Look, I love you both dearly, but the clock is running,” Lydia chimed in in exasperation. “Let’s get going!”

“Right.” But before she turned for the door, she leaned over one last time to whisper in his ear. “I meant what I said yesterday, even if it did come across as rather spontaneous. But I won’t say it again now, you’ll just tell me I’m trying to make this easier for you.” She pulled back only to plant a brief but deep kiss on his lips. By the time he knew what was happening, she’d already stepped back. “Bye.” With a cheeky wave, she grabbed her pack and brushed past Lydia and out the door. Quintus stared at the door, and then at Lydia who simply shrugged, saluted, and followed behind as usual.

Once the door slammed shut and he was left alone in the faintest light of dawn, Quintus leaned down onto the counter, rubbing his chin unconsciously as his thoughts whirred in his brain. By the Eight, the fate of the world rested in Fjori’s hands! As highly as he thought of her, something about that was a bit alarming… What exactly did he know about the Nordic version of the Dragonborn anyhow? Also, she loved him. Well, she claimed to love him. The kisses were pretty convincing. Damn, it was hard to believe he’d been the one to start that! Fjori seemed dead set on continuing it at any rate.

Finally, he groaned and buried his head in his arms. Why did she insist not saying those words again would make this easier? It certainly didn’t FEEL easier…

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

It was time to close the shop for the day, and he was desperate to flip the sign to ‘closed’. Too many people had pretended to come looking for some item in the store when really they’d just wanted to find out what had been going on with his recent visitors. Fjori and Lydia’s arrival had been anything but subtle given the housecarl wheeling her to his shop in a flurry. After that, well, it wasn’t as if they had tried to be sneaky about entering and exiting yesterday during their errands, and Viola Giordano herself had probably been counting how many times it happened. She probably also figured out they hadn’t left for the night… “A medical emergency,” he’d waved them off each time they hinted at the question. “I can’t say more than that, but she is fully recovered now and back on the road. Now, can I get you something? We clearly have the best in healing salves, potions and poultices.” Disappointed customers then found the cheapest thing to buy to keep face and left. He was so grouchy after such a draining day that he had to wonder if he was turning into Nurelion! People were obnoxious, and his research seemed all the more appealing.

But with the shop closed for the day, there was one more trying thing he had to force himself to do. He’d contemplated it all day whenever he could catch a break, and his mind had quickly been made up despite the daunting nature of the task: go to the Palace of Kings and look for some reading material. His conversation with Fjori earlier that morning had shocked him, caught him completely off guard, and upon further reflection, it embarrassed him that he hadn’t known more about what exactly the Nordic Dragonborns did. He’d been so worried about his own problems that he hadn’t taken into consideration hers. He professed to care about her, but what did he actually know about the responsibilities she had? Nothing much, and it had made him look like a fool. Surely in the oldest city of Skyrim, home to legendary Ysgramor and the earliest Nords, they would have some document relating to the myths of the Dragonborn.

Slipping out and locking the door, he began his trek to the palace, hoping he could find it without incident. It felt strange to leave the security of the marketplace he had called home for so long. The marketplace had most everything he needed for day-to-day life, and only rarely did he leave the confines of the plaza for other business. Visiting Nurelion’s grave in recent days had been an exception, as was the visit to Fjori at the inn. Visiting the palace, on the other hand, was one thing he had never done in all his time living in Windhelm. It was an imposing structure, ruled by what he’d heard was a very imposing man capable of shouting people to dust, protected by his very imposing housecarl who literally wore the pelt of a bear, fangs and all. Even the court wizard was nicknamed ‘The Undying’. Not one aspect of visiting such a place appealed to his mild-mannered personality. Still, Fjori was out there somewhere braving dangerous ruins to find something that would help save the world, so what right did he have to be scared?

Easier said than done when he stood in front of the towering gates to the palace, dark metal doors intricately carved and looking like they weighed twice what he did. It didn’t help that the patrolling guards were giving him sideways glances, as if the smaller shopkeeper were a fish out of water. Quintus took a deep breath and tried to recall what Nurelion would have done. He’d have marched in like he owned the place and demanded to see the archives. And the whole point he’d tried to make before dying was that he wanted Quintus to have that same kind of confidence. “All right, all right, but you’d better help after everything you’ve put me through,” he muttered to his mentor, wherever his spirit currently was. Ignoring the guards who were now staring at the Imperial that talked to himself, he marched up the stairs doing his best to channel the elderly Altmer.

The doors eased open just enough for him to slip through (just as heavy as he’d imagined they’d be), and he was greeting by the sight of a vast banquet hall seemingly carved from stone. Banners of dark blue bearing the symbol of Windhelm were draped from the walls, reminding all who entered just where they were. Quintus’s eyes darted nervously up to the throne at the end of the hall, and to his relief it was unoccupied. Put at ease, he walked up to a guard who stood beside one of the doors along the side. “Pardon me, I’m doing some research and was wondering if you would have a palace library where I might browse for materials related to my studies?”

The guard blinked, as if trying to process the formal language of the man before him. “Library, you say? Haven’t got one open to the public.”

Well, that was ineffective. Time to try something else. “Ah, but, I am not just the public. I am the alchemist in charge of the White Phial here in town. I worked under Master Nurelion until his recent passing and have now taken over his studies. Surely the Jarl would allow the use of his tomes to a man of science who provides a great service to the city…”

“The White Phial I’ve heard of. Nurelion I’ve heard of. You I have not. We’ve got too much going on right now to let random citizens into all quarters of the palace.”

His rebuke was enough to push even Quintus to make a snappy retort. “Like the way you stopped the Butcher a few weeks ago?”

Even this guard was not stupid enough to be oblivious to the barb. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, IMPERIAL, but we’ve got a war going on. If you are going to run your mouth off, you may just be branded a supporter of the enemy. Watch your tongue and know your place. Now get out, because it sure isn’t here!”

Being ridiculed by this random guard who clearly had less than half his intelligence and none of his subtleties was more humiliating than he’d imagined it could be. He could feel the tips of his ears burn, both in embarrassment and anger in equal measures. “I’ve lived in this city for seven years, and even if I was just an apprentice at the time, I’ve done more to help the people of the city than…” Before he could finish the sentence and regret it, he bit his tongue.

“Than who, Imperial? Finish that sentence!” The guard had stepped away from his post to hover menacingly over him, daring him to challenge the much taller, much stronger Nord.

He wanted to, no mistake about it. He wanted to shout “Than you incompetent guards who do nothing besides posture and bully!” But then again, he did not want to get thrown in prison. A man like him would be eaten alive in a place like that. Instead, he grudgingly lowered his head. “I spoke rashly. All I meant was that I have done nothing but serve, and I would appreciate it if you would not take that so lightly.” Not at all what Nurelion would do, but then again, could he really be blamed for having a stronger instinct of self-preservation than an old man?

“Well, until I’ve heard of you, you can go back to the White Phial and keep working until you’re worth enough to be known. Now, be gone!”

He was ready to eagerly obey that command and retreat to lick his wounds when a booming voice echoed through the hall. “Hold, guardsman. Did you mention the White Phial?” He jerked his head in the direction of the voice, and what he saw made his heart sink: Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. The one man he most wished to avoid. Where Quintus sought harmony, Ulfric seemed to sow chaos and rebellion wherever he went. Half the town worshipped him as a hero while the other half saw him as an unapologetic racist. Quintus never paid much attention to politics as long as he could do his job, but any man that controversial had to have a strong personality at best. Even his cold grey eyes seemed to bore into him aggressively.

“Yes, my Jarl. This Imperial was claiming to have worked there and wanted to get at our archives. I was just showing him the door.”

“No, wait. I’ve been meaning to talk to him anyways. This saves me the trouble.” If Quintus hadn’t been so controlled, his jaw would have dropped. The Jarl of Windhelm had wanted to speak to him?!

“Oh, my apologies, my Jarl. I hadn’t known…”

“Don’t worry, I appreciate your vigilance. Now, if you will excuse us, we have business to discuss. Come, alchemist, take a seat at the table and share a mead with me.”

Quintus had never acquired the taste for mead even after living in Skyrim for as long as he had. Give him a glass of wine over the Nordic brews any day and he’d be content. Still, there was no way he was going to deny this bear of a man his token of hospitality. With a quick nod he followed, seemingly taking two steps for each one of the Jarl’s. Ulfric gestured to a seat at the end of the table where Quintus hastily planted himself. Then, he sat across from him after grabbing two bottles from further down on the table. Both worked to uncork their drinks.

“A toast. To your master, Nurelion. May he find his rest in his afterlife.” Ulfric raised the bottle.

“To Nurelion, may he be at peace.” Quintus wasn’t exactly sure if Nurelion was capable of being at peace, but he hoped for it all the same. The toast made, both took a drink. Quintus’s was little more than a swig, while Ulfric seemed to gulp down half the bottle. He had to stop his nose so the aroma wouldn’t further nauseate him as he forced himself to swallow.

“I must begin with an apology. I know of you, but I do not know your name.” Ulfric waited expectantly.

“Quintus Navale, sir. It’s…not a big deal. Nurelion mostly kept me busy in the back. No one really saw much of me.” Of course, he was lying. Even the miners out in Darkwater Crossing knew who to send their requests to, and it sure wasn’t Nurelion. Meanwhile, the Jarl didn’t even know who was currently running one of Windhelm’s largest businesses? Best not to voice that frustration.

“Ah. Navale… An Imperial name?”

“Yes sir. I came with Nurelion when he migrated here to set up shop and start his research.”

“Yes, his research. That’s just what I was hoping to speak with you about.” The Jarl set his bottle down and folded his hands. Quintus got the impression that things were about to get serious. “It was no secret he was searching for Curalmil’s legendary artifact. I do not profess to know much about it, only that it had great potential if it could be recreated. Had he made any progress before his passing?”

Quintus got the distinct feeling in his gut that the Jarl was angling for something he didn’t want to give, but to lie to the leader of an entire army seemed like suicide. Thusly, he chose his next words very carefully. No Nord had ever bested an Imperial in the realm of diplomacy. “Not long before his passing, he had discovered the resting place of the artifact and hired a mercenary to retrieve it. Unfortunately, it was found broken, and he could never verify its properties. I feel this setback took the last bit of energy from him and hastened his death. It was extremely…disappointing to him.”

“I see.” Ulfric rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “And what of you? Will you continue his research and search for a means of fixing or replicating it?”

Quintus had really hoped he would not pry further into it. Now he had no choice but to reveal more of his hand. “To be honest, sir, I did find a means of repairing it, though not of recreating it.”

Ulfric seemed to sit up straighter. “Indeed? Such an amazing feat. Why have I not heard of it? Surely the man who could pull off such a thing would be given rich rewards…” And there was the meaning underlying all of his spoken words. His tone, his delivery, everything about this made it very clear that Ulfric wanted that Phial and would happily serve as a patron for his work. Outwardly, that seemed like the very thing Quintus would want. No need to run a store to fund his work, he could exclusively research with the funding of the Jarl. So why did it make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end? Probably because Ulfric was no man of learning, he knew that much for a fact. The leader of Windhelm was all too political, a true warrior, and an innocent request now might very well turn into something he would not want to do later. Nurelion’s warning in his farewell letter was suddenly showing an uncanny amount of foresight. How in the world was he getting out of this?

“Well, as I said, I couldn’t make any others, so it does very little good in practical application. As for the White Phial itself, I gave it to someone who would need it. I’m currently pursuing experiments in creating resist disease potions and…”

“Who has the Phial now?” Ulfric interrupted, all casual conversation gone. It was clear Quintus’s other work was of no interest to the man.

Quintus sat up straight as an arrow. Surely telling him wouldn’t matter. He had to know of her existence, right? He’d heard the call of the Greybeards the same as everyone else. “The Dragonborn, sir. She’s got to stop the World-Eater, so it seemed a fitting home for it.”

“The Dragonborn…” Ulfric slumped back with a frown. “You’ve met her?”

“As fate would have it, yes.” His mind spun furiously, coming up with just the right mixture of misleading truths to throw the Jarl off. “I’m the one who saw her use her shout to kill the Butcher, so I knew for a fact it was her.”

“I see.” Jarl Ulfric drained the rest of his bottle and rose. “Well, Navale, regardless, it seems you have a great deal of skill. Should the Stormcloaks have a need for your abilities, we will call upon you.”

“Sir, I will gladly work to heal everyone,” he said carefully but resolutely. “That is the job I am sworn to do as an alchemist.”

“Noted. But unfortunately, war does not just call for one side of the coin. You might be prevailed upon to do a wider variety of tasks. Prepare yourself for that day if you consider yourself a citizen of Windhelm.” Ulfric turned and strode off, leaving his guest flabbergasted where he sat alone at the table, his only company a nearly full bottle of mead. So much for research.


	12. Simmering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're both fighting their own battles until they can be reunited. Surprise guest appearance by Wuunferth the Undying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, pieces of this were in my previous version of Chapter 11 before I extended it out with a side conflict. Other parts are brand new to continue that side conflict. To those that are waiting, we'll get a nice dose of romance in the next chapter, I promise :)

“So, according to that Septimus guy, the only way to get into the tower where they’ve got the Elder Scroll is to go through an underground cavern. And this cube thing is supposed to unlock this lift to get us down there. All I can say is, it had better not be a long hike. It’s already taken us an entire day to cut through those…” She paused to shudder. “…Falmer. Having to give all those bodies a proper burial didn’t exactly speed up the process either.”

“What about these two?” Lydia nudged the fresh corpse of the expedition leader whose entire team had been slaughtered by the terrors lurking in these ruins not long before their arrival. Right when they’d stumbled upon these last two survivors, his second in command had finally had enough of his insanity and offed him before turning on the pair and being similarly cut down. Better fate than what their comrades had endured at least.

Fjori scowled. “I suppose even though it is all this guy’s fault for being a self-centered moron and endangering his team, we should be the better people here. A quick burial for the pair, then we’ll take the shortcut back to the surface for the night. Tomorrow we finish the job.” Eying the woman’s body, she reached down and grabbed the shield still clutched in the Redguard’s left hand, inspecting it carefully. The spikes on the outside were stained with dried blood, but she didn’t seem to care. “That’s a nice shield though. I’ve never seen a design like this. She won’t miss it.”

“I thought we were the better people here,” Lydia quipped, already dragging the Imperial man’s body away from the lift. “Let’s just get going. I’m tired.”

“Agreed.” Fjori followed suite with the woman’s corpse. “But you will notice, neither of us are sick even after all the contact with those Dwemer monstrosities.”

“True. Dear Quintus might be on to something with his latest creation.” Lydia tossed the corpse unceremoniously near a rocky outcropping.

“Dear Quintus is brilliant. I still have a hard time believing he’s willing to accept all this…baggage…that comes with me.”

“To be fair, it would seem he wasn’t aware of all of the baggage until this morning,” Lydia observed, watching as Fjori dropped the second corpse next to the first. “Also, for all we know, the potion may still kill us; it hasn’t even been a whole day.”

A shadow crossed Fjori’s face. “You don’t think he’ll change his mind about me, do you?”

“Divines, Fjori, and you tell ME I have trust issues! The boy is smitten! I thought he would never stop fawning over you this morning!”

In the dim light, even Lydia could see Fjori blush. It wasn’t the thought of his immense concern for her safety, but rather the memory of his bold kiss the day before that did it. If only she could dismiss the nagging voice that said he wouldn’t do it again after finding out about her mission. Asking him to love someone who was tasked with saving the world from a mythic beast even her ancestors couldn’t defeat was asking for a lot. “You’re right, he’s given me no reason to doubt him. I just…it’s complicated. I’m complicated. Now, stand back.”

Lydia quickly took several steps away from the bodies. “What are you-“

“FUS!” Fjori aimed her shout at the rock wall, sending a small avalanche tumbling down to cover the bodies. Once the dust settled, she cleared her throat. “All done.”

“You could have caused this whole cave to collapse on top of us!” Lydia accused, eying the remaining parts of the rock wall warily.

“No, that was my weak version. Now, let’s get out of here. I need some air.”

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

“Ufff, thank the divines. I needed some air!” he moaned to himself as he began the long walk home through brazier-lit streets. In the end, his visit to the Palace of Kings had been more than a waste of time, it had turned into threats from all sides. Some were more thinly veiled than others, but regardless he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just escaped a pit of vipers. Was Ulfric serious about using his alchemical skills for their war effort? What exactly would that mean? Healing potions were one thing, as he’d told the Jarl, but if he was called upon to make poisons, or to buff up the warriors to aid in their killing, it would go against everything he believed alchemy should be used for. Heck, he would probably get into trouble for healing anyone, regardless of affiliation.

Not only was he dead-set against war in general, but he couldn’t even say for sure who was in the wrong or the right in this conflict, much less feel passionately enough about the cause to join. And why should he, considering he wasn’t even from Skyrim? What right did he have to involve himself in such controversial affairs of a province that was not his own, not truly? This didn’t seem to matter to Ulfric. In the Jarl’s mind, if he lived in his city, he had a debt to pay his adopted home whether he agreed or not. Being an outsider only made him more vulnerable to such demands. 

And then the horrible thought finally crossed his mind: how would Fjori react to this news? She was a very Nordic Nord, from a very traditional part of the region. It would make sense if she subscribed to the Stormcloak idea that they should govern themselves and shed the Empire. Hadn’t she even been on a mission for one of Ulfric’s supporters when he first met her? Damn it, not only did he not know her in her role as Dragonborn, but he didn’t even know her political leanings. She may very well just dump him if he refused to serve the Stormcloak rebellion. Divines, why were people so vexing? Why couldn’t he just keep to himself and his books and… 

He had to mentally slap himself as he realized he was turning into Nurelion. The whole point had been that he didn’t WANT to end up like Nurelion. To keep his mind under control, he spent the entire rest of the way home praying to each of the Divines that Ulfric would be preoccupied with more pressing things and forget the alchemist whose name he surely would not even bother to remember. Then, he went through again and prayed for Fjori’s safe return. No matter which side she took, he couldn’t bear the thought of her not coming back.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

“All right, it did what it was supposed to do! Finally, something going according to plan…” Fjori marveled as a spiral staircase dropped down from the floor tiles, and all thanks to the artifact they’d received to place in the podium.

“Let’s just hope the tower is not nearly as big as this place,” Lydia muttered, trailing her Thane as the pair began their descent.

What they found was not at all what they’d expected.

Lydia thought she would cry tears of bitter agony when she saw the enormous expanse that unfolded before her eyes. This was no cave; this was an entire province underground! Neither woman could see the opposite end, even with the towering glowing mushrooms lighting the dark. The sound of rushing water could be heard, some subterranean river. Remnants of Dwemer buildings and machinery were strewn across run-down pathways, still visible even after the passing of ages. Suffice it to say, the entrance to the tower was nowhere to be seen. “Shor have mercy…” 

When she turned to gage Fjori’s reaction, she was more than a little surprised to see her standing tall, fists clenched and a look of determination on her face. No, she wasn’t blind, her eyes were darting around the space taking it all in. For someone with as little patience as she had, this was rather out of character. “Where do we even start, my Thane?”

Fjori pointed to a small dwelling a dozen yards away or so. “We establish a home base in case we can’t find where we need to go right away. We know the path is cleared this way, so we won’t want to stray too far until we can get oriented. Then, we’ll use landmarks and hug the walls of the cavern until we find the tower we need, simple as that.”

“Aren’t you gung-ho…” Lydia remarked dryly.

“The sooner we get this scroll, the sooner we get to go back to Windhelm. Then I’ll be able to kill this Alduin, and I can live the rest of my life the way I want. No point in delaying things now that I have an end-game.”

The conversation was interrupted by a chorus of angry hisses. Or rasps. Or possibly better described as the breathing of someone with seriously congested lungs. It came from below their platform, and no matter how it was described, it was clearly hostile. Both women drew weapons in a split-second, ready to stand against the horde. “Get out of my way, Falmer creeps! I hate you, now die!” With a fierce roar, Fjori charged. No, nothing was going to get in the way of the future she now knew she wanted to have.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

It was the second day since she’d left. He knew she probably wouldn’t make it back that day. She’d have to go slow, he reasoned, the place was very dangerous. Before he could get too wrapped up in his worries, he received a timely distraction.

This visitor to the shop, unlike all his others, arrived wearing the long indigo robes of a mage, with a cowl pulled over his head to hide his features. Either he was a traveler trying to get to the college at Winterhold, or he was the one mage that lived in the city. In either case, hiding his face seemed like a useless thing to do when his attire stood out so much.

“Good morning sir. How may I help you?” Quintus inquired politely, doing his best not to look like he was scrutinizing the customer.

“You…must be Quintus Navale, am I correct?” the old man articulated. Each word was crisp and clear and carefully chosen.

“Yes…” he cautiously affirmed. That was a first. No one ever came looking for him specifically, just the things he could make.

The mage reached up with gaunt, bony hands to lower his cowl, revealing a head of long gray hair and a matching beard. Deep creases around his dark eyes further betrayed his age. “Wuunferth. Court mage to Ulfric Stormcloak.”

So, as luck would have it, it WAS the one mage that lived in the city. Quintus could feel his stomach instantly turning to knots. Had Ulfric already sent for him? It must have shown on his face, because the old man before him chuckled in amusement and gave a dismissive wave. 

“Don’t worry, I don’t come representing the Jarl, I come on my own behalf. I heard you and the Jarl met yesterday.”

“Y-yes sir. It sounded like he knew of Nurelion, but not of me. We were…introduced.” His smile was forced, and even he knew it was a miserable attempt at misdirection.

“Ah, Nurelion. Yes, Jarl Ulfric had given him a thorough interview before allowing an Altmer to set up shop in his city. He consulted with me as to the validity of his work. We needed an apothecary, and in the end, he decided the old man was harmless enough, far more worried about his own research than any kind of politics.”

“That does sound like Nurelion.”

“Between you and me, boy,” the wizard leaned closer to the counter, “he recognized that Nurelion was neither a foe nor an asset. Master alchemist that he was, his research did nothing that could help Ulfric unless it actually bore fruit. And even if it had, you and I both know Nurelion would not be the type to willingly comply. You, however…” Quintus swallowed nervously as the mage seemed to appraise him, causing Wuunferth to chuckle once more. “Not only has he realized you succeeded where your master failed, but-”

“Nurelion would have been able to fix the Phial if he hadn’t gotten sick!” Quintus interjected doggedly. “It is wrong to think I have any more skill than he had!”

“But it is convenience,” Wuunferth shrugged. “Assuming your skills were in fact comparable, Ulfric sees that he might be able to bend you to his will and therefore thinks of you more highly. You know how it is, when there is something people can’t get, they tend to think less of it.”

Quintus opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it. Wuunferth didn’t get to be court wizard in a city so suspicious of magic by being anything but devoted to Ulfric. Wuunferth seemed to read his mind, however. “I am aware you wish to stay uninvolved like your master before you. Purely an academic. While you will need to increase your resolve if you ever hope to stand your ground, I will be sure to keep Ulfric’s attentions away from you as best I can for as long as I can. After all, if he has me, he doesn’t need you nearly as much.”

“Thank you!” Quintus breathed. Then, he seemed to reconsider. “I mean, without offending. I didn’t mean…”

“This wasn’t the reason I came, however. I heard you were at the palace looking for research material. The guard didn’t know this of course, but we have no volumes on alchemical theory in our libraries. I’m certain you were aware of this, being the very intelligent practitioner that you are and Nurelion’s disciple. So, answer me this: what kind of book were you seeking?”

“I need to know more about the Dragonborn of Nord culture.” Was this a trap? Was there some angle he wasn’t seeing that would make him regret confessing this later?

“Ah. We would have plenty of information on that. But that seems like a strange topic for an Imperial alchemist. I wonder what brought up such curiosity that you would drag yourself to the palace in search of answers…”

“Current events. You know, if the world is supposedly going to end, I’d like to know more about what we’re dealing with. Call it the scholar in me.” Quintus did his best to sound cool and detached, though he had his doubts it came across that way.

“I see. Still seems like a bit of a stretch.” Wuunferth suddenly stepped back and eyed the young man critically. “And would it have anything to do with a run-in with the Dragonborn?”

“I’ve met her, yes. And she is an enigma.” It was hard to look the man known as “Undying” in the eye, but he used all his resolve to hold his gaze.

Wuunferth continued to study him for several seconds before reaching into the satchel he bore. “I can see there is little more information you are willing to give, and I will respect that. Just be aware that I had all of this figured out before I even asked. I simply wanted to gage your honesty.” He withdrew a worn book. The black leather cover was inlaid with the symbol of the Empire. “If you are short on time, as you will be, this is the one volume I would recommend you read. Written by a prior at Weynon in Cyrodiil, an ordained devout of Talos and an expert on all lore of Dragonborns. Should be to your taste. I will be back tomorrow to pick it up and return it to the palace library to spare you the pain of another…encounter.”

You could have knocked Quintus over with a feather, which only seemed to please the mage. His eyes traveled from the old man to the book, back to the old man and back to the book. “But how did you-?!”

“Ulfric may be too busy to keep his ear to the ground, but when I step out to pick up materials, I hear the rumors. A young woman seen coming and going from your shop, each time longer than the next. I know she is the Dragonborn, because I met her as well. You wish to understand her destiny, and it seems a harmless thing to grant.”

“But you…why?” Even as he took the book, the questions spun in his mind.

Wuunferth pulled his cowl back over his head and turned to the door. “Let’s say that I owe Fjori. I know how many in the city talk about me, but she gave me a chance to defend my honor instead of having me thrown in jail during the Butcher incident, and it is much appreciated. That is why I brought the book, not just for your sake, but also for hers, so she can have someone who understands. A Nord always pays back a debt. As for the other matter, I hear the people talk about you. They say only good things. That is why the sway with Ulfric.”

“I can’t thank you enough, sir!” By this time, Quintus was clutching the book to his chest. “This means so much to me.”

Wuunferth held up his hand. “I can’t promise how long you have. You need to start considering carefully what you will do if I can’t dissuade him.” When he heard no response, he opened the door. “I hope you are quick reader. I’ll be back tomorrow.” Then, just as suddenly as he’d appeared, he was gone.

That left Quintus entirely unsure of how he felt as he stood there with mouth agape. He was thrilled to finally have some answers about Fjori after being so certain he would never get them. He was shocked by the generosity of a man he had believed to be entirely emotionless. He was terrified by the warning the old man had left him. Sleep would not come easy this night, so it was a good thing he had plenty of reading to do to keep him occupied.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Three days. At least, it might have been three days; without emerging for any extended periods of time from the sunless depths, it was impossible to know for sure. She was giving her best guess given the amount of rations they had consumed since departing Windhelm, and the supplies were rapidly dwindling between the two people. Even Fjori’s initial vigor had dampened significantly as they pressed ahead further and further in search of the tower they sought. There were so many buildings, an entire abandoned city she knew any historian would drool over, but none of those doors led to any above-ground towers. A few had looked promising, but the lifts couldn’t be accessed from their side. Others were functional, but took them to the frozen wilderness of Skyrim. Shortcuts for later, but not helpful at the current moment.

Fjori had been drawing a crude map with charcoal to track where they’d been as they wandered, and by her estimations they were nearing the final, unexplored corner of the cavern. There was one more lift to try, and when it was activated, the partners were equally overjoyed to see a new section of Dwemer ruins instead of the outside world. Never would either have imagined they could feel that way…  
Up the stairs, and to an impressive observatory. Fjori, true to her fashion, smashed a bunch of buttons after placing another cube from Septimus into its receptacle. After countless attempts, the mechanisms did as they were designed to do, allowing a hidden container to descend from the ceiling. It opened, revealing a huge scroll. Fjori literally fell to the ground and thanked the entire pantheon of gods, while Lydia internalized all her prayers of gratitude with equal fervor. There was even a convenient lift out, though it took a long time for their eyes to adjust to the blinding white of the snow on the mountainside.

“I hate Dwemer ruins!” Fjori declared to no one in particular. “Never again!”

“Agreed.”

“We’ll return these cubes to Septimus some other time. Right now, I think I’ve earned my reward. Haven’t I, Lydia?”

Lydia rolled her eyes, but couldn’t suppress her smile. “You did very well and were very focused my Thane. Yes, I think we can stop by Windhelm before returning to High Hrothgar.”

“It’s been five days!” Fjori exclaimed, beginning to scamper down the trail to the main road. “He must be worried sick, don’t you think?”

“Yes, my Thane. I’ll pick up the pace so we can make it by nightfall.”

“Great! Let’s go!”

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

By the third day, he began to wonder why it was taking so long, only interrupted by Wuunferth’s brief appearance to collect his tome. Bad conditions on the roads to and from? Stopping at an inn to rest? Trying to ignore the worry, he organized and reviewed the notes he had taken after staying up all night to read the book cover to cover. It had indeed been an enlightening read, highlighting the contrast of Imperial beliefs and the much older Nordic traditions of Dragonborns. Of course, it was also troubling when he started to replace the phrase “Last Dragonborn” with Fjori’s name… The prophecies were ominous at best. Despite everything on his mind, he finally fell asleep from pure exhaustion.

By the fourth and fifth days, his imagination began to devise all manner of horrible ways she could have been killed, from dwarven centurions to Alduin the World-Eater himself, and no amount of distraction could stop these thoughts. He was finding it hard to eat. He was becoming obsessive with his chores, filling orders, reading books…anything to get his mind off of her. Customers were beginning to ask if he was sick, and he’d said yes, just because it was easier than trying to explain.

The sun was setting, the close to the fifth day. He went to lock up for the night, but had an impossible time turning the bolt. What if… With a frustrated growl, he turned and walked away. Let some bandit break in! So be it! Up the stairs he went to prepare some vegetable soup. As if he was going to be eating any of it… He stared at the simmering pot as it cooked, berating himself for the thousandth time. Fjori was the last Dragonborn. If he was going to care about her, this was how it was going to be. This apparently wasn’t even the most dangerous thing she would have to do. Knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less though.

Suddenly, there was a ding from the door downstairs. “It’s unlocked!” A woman’s voice, but not just any woman…

“Fjori?!” He nearly overturned his chair in his mad scramble to get downstairs, then nearly tripped over his own feet as he flew. There she was, filthy and exhausted-looking, but alive and standing in his store alongside Lydia. “Fjori! Lydia!”

He wasted no time and clearly didn’t care about making a scene in front of the housecarl. Flinging his arms around her he kissed her, using every trick he had picked up from her the last time she’d instigated. Her response was equally fervent. All of it was relief on both ends: he was relieved she was alive, and she was relieved that the truth of her role hadn’t changed anything after all.


	13. Publishing Conclusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjori wants just one day for her and Quintus. It turns out, they'll need it to deal with the big emotional questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not going to lie, I think both Fjori and I thought this was going to get to a spicier point by the end of the chapter, but that wasn't how it worked out. No regrets from either of us, it was just some overdue conversations. Better luck in chapter 14?

It had been a long night, with Massa and Secunda hanging high in the sky before they retired. Quintus refrained from mentioning any of his own drama, not wanting to put additional problems on Fjori when he was just glad she hadn’t gotten killed on her own adventures. Instead, he plied her for information regarding what she had been up to, and Fjori, being who she was, eagerly detailed their exploits in the past five days. Lydia rarely got a word in edge-wise, and found her head spinning from the dramatic, drawn-out narrative, but Quintus listened with rapt attention, eagerly soaking in each word. Fjori noted how despite his exhaustion, his eyes sparkled as she recounted their discoveries in Blackreach, of the entire Dwemer city buried deep underground. Unable to wait, she pulled out several Dwemer gadgets they had picked up, eager to give them to her biggest supporter. He wasn’t as much into history as science, but how could the scholar in him be anything but fascinated by the gyros and centurion cores of a long-lost civilization? And alchemy ingredients as well! Oil from dwarven constructs, the ears of the dreaded Falmer, and enough chaurus eggs to last him a year! He’d of course give her coin for her extras, but perhaps he’d keep a few of the less degradable items for himself as display pieces for the store…

Hours later and nearly hoarse from talking so much, Fjori admitted it might be time to sleep. A bed not made out of stone would be a nice improvement, both women agreed. Before they could depart for the inn, he offered his dwelling instead, intent on saving them the coin. Fjori protested, noting how gross they were after spending so long in a giant cave, but when he insisted, they were too tired to protest further. At the least, Fjori demanded she and Lydia share the larger bed upstairs so poor worn-out Quintus wouldn’t have to fall asleep sitting at his table like last time. It wouldn’t have mattered; knowing Fjori and Lydia were safe was more than enough for him to rest easy regardless of location.

The next morning, he awoke at the same time as always despite running on five hours of sleep. Even so, he had more energy than he’d had since Fjori departed, and he quickly set about preparing breakfast while simultaneously heating large pots of water. There was no concern about waking the sleeping pair by making too much noise as he worked upstairs. If they were truly worn out, they would sleep though him trudging up and down the steps to replenish his water supply from the well.

It had been a long and grueling adventure, but when they still hadn’t risen by the time the store was about to open, Quintus cautiously shook Fjori awake. “Hey, Fjori,” he murmured in a low voice. “Time to get up. If you don’t, the water will get cold.”

“The…water?” she groaned groggily, rolling onto her back. Her hair, matted with grime, was sticking out at awkward and unattractive angles. Well, unattractive in most cases. This right now was just kind of cute. 

“I drew you a bath. You seemed to need it,” he smirked in amusement. “You and Lydia both, of course. It’s been a hard couple of days, and I thought you’d like to get cleaned up. I have breakfast heating on the hearth as well, just some scrambled eggs and warm bread with snowberry jam. Store’s about to open, so I’ll make myself scarce. Holler if you need anything.” As he continued to study her for a reaction, he wasn’t getting much besides a weak nod that could just as well be misconstrued for nodding off. “Fjori, what did I just say?”

“Food?” she attempted. 

This earned a snort of laughter. “Fine then, you leave me no choice.” Searching for the cleanest spot on her face (and there were not many), he settled on a patch of skin right next to her ear and firmly pressed a kiss there. “Get going, Fjori, or you’ll regret it.” His scratchy whisper in her ear and the tickle of his sideburns on her sensitive skin caused her eyelids to fly open in shock.

He turned to walk away before he could see the reaction this got out of Fjori. His intentions had been completely innocent, of course, but he hadn’t realized that he’d hit upon a sensitive and potentially arousing area of her body with this choice. Even as he descended to the main floor, he left Fjori fully awake and flushing, hand reaching up to her ear as if trying to determine what had just happened.

“My Thane, I don’t think we both should use the water,” Lydia decided in a hushed voice, revealing that she was now awake as well. Rolled over on her side, she was completely oblivious to what had transpired or Fjori’s current condition. “One person will completely dirty it. You should go first, and then I’ll dump the water and start again. Maybe after that we can wash the sheets for Quintus, seeing as he’s been so hospitable, and…Fjori, are you even listening?” Lydia had sat up, and realized Fjori was absently rubbing the side of her face with a dazed look. “What, are you still half asleep?”

“R-right. Just…still dreaming I guess.”

“Mmm-hmm….” Lydia squinted. “And what were you dreaming about, I wonder?”

“Say, Lydia,” Fjori began, paying no attention to her intent, “I’ll give you a hundred gold to get a room at the inn and occupy yourself for the day. I know we need to deliver the scroll to High Hrothgar, but give me this one day and I won’t ask for more until my quest is done.” Before Lydia could say anything, she had thrown the covers off and jumped out of bed. “I mean, you can stay and eat breakfast, but I need some space. I hope you can understand.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Do we have a deal, Lydia?” Fjori was trying not to sound desperate and failing spectacularly.

With a growl, Lydia rubbed her temples in an attempt to organize her thoughts. “You want me to leave you alone for 24 hours, no questions asked, and in return you won’t stop for anything until you’ve defeated Alduin.” There was a thoughtful pause, then a suspicious furrowing of her eyebrows. “Fjori, are you going to try to-”

“Like you said, Lydia, no questions asked. Do we have a deal?” She was trying to keep her voice down, but there was an unquestionable intensity to her tone.

“I have my doubts that it is in your plans, but do you swear you will not leave the safety of the city without me?”

“I will not, I promise. Everything I want is well within the city.” Fjori let her eyes trail down to the floor, and Lydia could easily read her thoughts as she looked through the gaps in the floorboards for the man they both knew was hard at work below.

Lydia sighed grudgingly. “You know it will only make things more complicated if they don’t go according to plan. What if something happens to you? What if in slaying Alduin you lose your life along with him?”

Fjori gritted her teeth. “He can decide what he wants, he’ll be the one living in that case.”

“He doesn’t even understand what you have to do!” It was taking everything Lydia had not to let her voice escalate to a point where Quintus could hear them.

“I’ll explain to him today. No quick comments and then running out the door. That’s why I need you to make yourself scarce, okay?” Fjori swallowed hard. “I just want it to be him and me, wherever that ends up taking us.”

They stared each other down for several moments before Lydia sighed again. “You are a grown woman, and I am your housecarl. I don’t think it makes a lot of sense to get so invested right now, but it isn’t my choice to make. Give me the gold and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Nodding solemnly, Fjori went for her pack where it lay on the floor and withdrew the necessary coin. “Hell, if you need more, I’ll reimburse you for it. Thank you, Lydia.”

Lydia took the money, then moved to leave. “I’ll leave my armor here. No sense in putting it on again just to take it off when I get to the inn. You make sure you clean up well before you try and get flirty.” Lydia’s eyes roamed up and down her thane’s body. “You are a mess.”

“In more ways that you know,” she mumbled in reply.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

The water was still warm when she peeled off her dirty clothes and sank into the tub. It had been awkward at first, realizing that he was right below her as she stripped naked, but even if he could see anything through some gap in the floorboards, she believed he wouldn’t look. Quintus was a gentleman. He’d taken the time to bring all of this water up while she was still snoring away. Lydia was right, she really needed to help with chores to make up for this treatment. She glanced over at the bed, and even from her distance she could see streaks of dirt sullying the pillowcase. Then, she looked down into the water, where she was disgusted to see it was already turning brown. This was NOT going to be a drawn-out affair.

Hurriedly, she scrubbed herself with the lavender-scented soap left out for her, making sure to get at the dirt under her nails, then gathered the nerve to dunk her head underwater and untangle the snarls in her hair. She could do a better job later, but it was at least an improvement. Finally, she stood, wringing out her short hair, and reached for the towel left warming near the fire. He really had thought of everything. What did she ever do to deserve someone like him? 

A pang of guilt ate at her just then. Nothing, absolutely nothing. She had been a whore and deserved to be treated as such, not like a princess the way Quintus seemed to view her. Besides, she could easily tell how he liked to be well-kempt and put together even when he had been under stress in the most trying of times, with a cleanly shaven chin, neatly trimmed sideburns, and pristine pressed clothes despite all the substances he worked with throughout the day. Here she’d barged into his domain last night like some filthy vagabond. How did he stand it? Maybe this whole bathwater thing was his non-confrontational way of telling her he couldn’t stand her condition… Maybe…

No! She was doing it again! She shivered, even her Nord resistance to the cold wearing thin, and reached for that warm towel, wrapping it around herself like an embrace. HIS embrace. He wasn’t like that. He was kind and wanted to take care of her, and there was no reason to doubt it, no matter how things used to be back in Morthal.

Before she could get too lost in her bitter memories, she dried off and pulled out her clean set of clothes from her pack. It was the blue dress she’d worn the day Nurelion had passed, and since leaving home she could count on one hand the amount of times she’d put it on. Today would be one of those times. Regardless of what he was truly thinking, she would look nice for him, for this day she’d bought from Lydia. She’d show him she could clean up and be the kind of woman he’d like.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

He’d heard the water of the tub slosh around as she rose from the water and did his utmost not to imagine what the scene upstairs must look like. Trying to balance books did nothing to help; he just kept making silly errors in his figures. It took the digging of his nails into the palm of his hand to finally pry him from the thought of stray drops trailing down her naked body, hugging every curve. Maybe the bath had been a bad idea… What if some customer walked in and caught him all red in the face?

Luckily, it seemed to be a quiet morning. He could explain away the medical emergency last time, but there would be no explaining why she was here this morning, clearly making herself at home. There was no one to blame but himself for that much, but his first instinct had been to keep her close even though it complicated things today. He flat out wanted her to stay with him. Given the way they had taken to showing affection, wasn’t that a natural thing to want? What would it take before they were a couple able to walk without shame in the marketplace, unafraid of gossip?

His musings were interrupted by the sound of her footsteps as she descended from upstairs. His eyes instantly drawn to her, he blinked in surprise at the sight of her in that dress. It was simple and practical as far as dresses went, but it may as well have been a fine Imperial ballgown seeing it on the mercenary. No more grime on her face, her clear, pale skin seemed to glow in the morning light. The long locks of hair that framed her face, while still damp, had been braided to form a crown around her head and tied off in back. Her eyes looked bluer today, perhaps due to her choice of attire, and he felt them watching for his reaction. It wasn’t hard to spot.

“F-Fjori! You look beautiful!” Quintus stammered in wide-eyed reverence. When he noticed her look down uncomfortably, he realized perhaps this was not the best thing to say. “I mean, you are always beautiful, but this is a different KIND of beautiful. It’s not that I thought you weren’t before or anything. I just…ugh.” He buried his face in his hands as he leaned onto the counter, wishing Akatosh, the god of time, could rewind it for him so he could try this again. “Please don’t take any of that the wrong way.”

Her flicker of insecurity was extinguished as soon as his own began, and she strode across the room so she stood before him at the counter. A hand snuck its way under his chin until she had guided his eyes to meet hers. “I know I usually look like I don’t care. I wanted you to see what I COULD be.”

“If you looked like this every day, Fjori, it wouldn’t suit you. Just that once in a while to catch me off guard,” he said quietly. His own hand reached out to caress her cheek. “You know I understand your job doesn’t leave much room for personal maintenance, and already I’ve decided I like that wild look on you. You know, I still keep this mental image of the day I met you, when you came in with all those spider webs in your hair…” A smile played at the corner of his lips as he watched her blush. “It’s what makes you Fjori.”

“I…oh…I was worried…”She couldn’t quite articulate it, but he seemed to understand.

“I’m just happy you’re back, no matter what you look like when you walk through the door. Now…” He drew back, but when her hands fell to the wood of the counter, he trapped them in his own. “I know I can’t shirk my duties, but surely I could shut down the shop for an hour and we could get some lunch while you are here in town.”

“Here in the shop?” she questioned, confused.

Quintus took a deep breath, unsure of how she would take this prodding to go the next step. “Actually, I thought perhaps you’d accompany me to the marketplace and we could get something from one of the stalls.”

“So, you’re saying we should…go out,” Fjori summarized while biting her lip. “In public.”

He didn’t like that unconscious display of worry and instinctively shrunk back, hands retreating from hers. “Does it bother you to be seen with me?” he asked in a low, dejected voice. “Would you rather we just…keep things hidden?”

Her eyes widened. “No, Quintus, that’s not it…”

She seemed sincere in her denial of it being him. Perhaps… “Fjori, I did do some research while you were away. That’s a whole story in and of itself, but the point is, I understand now what you were trying to tell me the day you left. Are you hesitant to be seen with me because you think the last Dragonborn shouldn’t be distracted by a relationship with anyone and you’re breaking some unwritten rule? Would it put you or me in danger if anyone knew?”

“Wait wait wait. You went looking up information about my destiny and all that stuff?” she stared incredulously, completely ignoring his question. 

Quintus flinched. “It bothered me a lot not to know that about you, the things you had to deal with. I wanted to understand you better, and what you were going through. Was it…weird that I read an entire book on Dragonborns in one night while taking detailed notes for further review?”

“You…? All of that? Wow! No, it’s really sweet!” she insisted, more surprised by this revelation than he would have anticipated. “I didn’t realize you cared that much about me, that you would take the time to…you’d go out of your way to…”

“I couldn’t say ‘I love you’ until I could help you with your burdens. Trust me, Fjori, reading some of those prophecies terrified me. I’m still terrified, thinking about what you have to do. And I understand why we aren’t supposed to be together. All the same, I can’t help but love you!” He blurted the final words and spun around to hide his burning face. “So, if I mistakenly get in your way, tell me to stop. I’m afraid I might do something that holds you back, something like wanting to walk with you in public.”

She didn’t say anything right away, but he heard the swishing of fabric as she swiftly moved around the counter. Strong hands wrapped around his waist from behind. “Truthfully, I hadn’t considered that. There might be something to that danger theory, and Lydia would probably agree, but me being the Dragonborn was not the reason I have been so hesitant to go public with this. I just…had a bad experience before with someone else, someone who hid me away.”

His brow furrowed. “There was someone else?”

She refused to elaborate. Now was not the time. “It surprises me that you would WANT to be seen with me, and I was only ever trying to protect you, not myself. It would feel really weird, but if you want people to know we are together, then I want it too. I want them to know that you are mine. In fact…” She took a deep, shaky breath. “It would maybe take a weight off I didn’t even consider that I was carrying.”

Now it was his turn to be befuddled. “You thought I wouldn’t want to be seen with YOU? Divines, Fjori, I wish everyone knew! I wish we wouldn’t have to hide anything!” He shook his head vigorously in denial. “I would love nothing more than to walk by your side, show off the woman who for some reason chose me.”

When he tried to spin around, she held him fast. Not just yet. He couldn’t see the glimmer of tears in her eyes. It was all so much to take in, so different than any past experience. “You know, I was going to ask you later, but you beat me to it. All that stuff about what my role is, whether knowing I was the last Dragonborn would change your mind about being in a relationship with me. I felt bad about springing it on you, and I couldn’t stop thinking about what you must think the entire time I was away.”

“Other than being really hard to fathom, it doesn’t change how I feel about you. Just like learning you had dragon powers didn’t change anything.”

“Even if I’m in danger all the time? Even if one day I wouldn’t come back because I’d fallen?”

He swallowed thickly. “I’ve thought about it a lot, but if I asked you to leave now, it would hurt just as much as if you had been killed. No, maybe worse. If you have sixty years left, or six months left, I want to keep spending it with you. I want you, I want us, up until the point where a relationship would jeopardize the world. I know there will be sacrifices. I know you won’t be able to stay for very long, and visits may be few and far between, but I don’t care, Fjori. None of that can make me stop what I feel for you.”

“Tell me again what it is you feel,” she breathed as the air was caught in her throat. There was no point in trying to wait it out. She knew her falling tears were soaking into the shoulders of his tunic and he felt it.

She could sense him straighten, like his resolve was set. “I love you, Fjori.” Her response was a choked gasp as she pressed her damp cheek against his shoulderblade. He desperately wished he was not facing the opposite way so he could read her expressions. “I know you’ve said it before, but I want to hear you say it again. Where do I stand?”

“I love…” She paused to lick her lips. “I love you too, Quintus.”

“Then, it doesn’t have to be complicated, right?”

Just then, the door to the shop opened with a cheery ‘ding’, and Quintus had to grit his teeth to keep from cursing. Yes, apparently it did have to be complicated. He cleared his throat. “Why don’t you head upstairs and relax while I help this customer?” He didn’t whisper it, didn’t try to hide it, but rather let his voice carry. She nodded wordlessly and released her grip on him, slinking to the stairs without letting the customer see her face. Quintus was going to take the bullet for her, it seemed, and she was too out of sorts to protest.

As soon as she released him, he spun around to find Revyn Sadri scratching his head through unruly ashen hair. “Bad time? I can come back,” the Dunmer offered graciously, though he couldn’t hide the way his eyes studied Fjori’s back as she withdrew from the room.

Quintus waved him off, checking her status out of the corner of his eye. “No need, it’s fine. How can I help you today Revyn? The usual assortment for the general goods store?”

“Indeed. How soon can you fill it?”

“I can take care of that right now. I have plenty already prepared and in stock. Give me a few moments and you can take them with you right away.”

“That would be wonderful. 500 septims, correct?”

“Yes, that it is. I’ll be right back with your order.” Being in his element calmed him, though Sadri’s politeness certainly helped the situation. He only hoped Fjori was okay upstairs. Moving to the back room he grabbed the potions necessary for the order with practiced ease and filled a spare crate with the goods. When he stepped back out, the merchant had the payment already sitting on the counter. “Thank you for your business as usual, Revyn.”

“Of course.” The Dunmer cleared his throat uneasily, and spoke in hushed tones. “Say Quintus, forgive me for intruding on personal affairs, but does Fjori know about that other woman?”

“What other woman?” the alchemist wondered, looking at a loss.

“The one in your house as we speak!”

Realization dawned on him and he face-palmed with a moan. “Revyn, that WAS Fjori.”

Revyn blinked. “It WAS?”

“She’s got a day off so she isn’t wearing an entire set of armor, if that was what tricked you,” he supplied while still shaking his head.

“By Azura, I would never have guessed. I suppose I’ve never seen her in a dress… Well, that’s good then. No problem.”

“Wait, Revyn, do you know Fjori or something?”

Revyn chuckled quietly. “Between you and me, she helped me return a stolen ring I’d accidentally purchased with incredible discretion. No one was the wiser. Certainly saved my hide. Besides, who doesn’t know Fjori? She stopped the Butcher, brought a great deal of business to the vendors in the city, and even knocked that racist pig Rolf to the ground when he started running his mouth at one of our own. I don’t know about up here, but down in the Grey Quarter she’s more than welcome. We all like the idea that she’s taken a fancy to you. Seems fitting that two nice people make each other happy.”  
Quintus turned the color of his hair. “It was that obvious, huh?”

Revyn quirked an eyebrow. “What, were you trying to be discreet or something?”

“…maybe.”

This earned a hearty laugh from the customer. “You didn’t expect that to work with Viola Giordano living in the city, did you?”

“Probably not.”

“Well, feel free to give the old busy-body a show sometime, huh? That will give her something to blab about for a while.” With another laugh, Revyn picked up his crate and headed for the door. “Give my regards to Fjori.”

“Right,” Quintus responded faintly. Well, all the better they were both ready to come forward, because it apparently wasn’t going to wait for them to change their minds.

Once his customer had left the shop, he scurried upstairs to check on Fjori. He found her stripping the sheets from the bed, far more composed than he had left her, perhaps given the task she was focused on. “Are you all right? That conversation didn’t actually end the way I would have imagined…”

“I swear, the Divines are out to get us,” she grumbled, crumpling up the bottom sheet and tossing it to the floor.

“I’d agree, but then again I think we bring it upon ourselves,” he admitted with a small smile. “We were kind of standing in the middle of the shop during business hours.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” She paused her work and fixed her gaze on him. “But to answer your original question, the one you asked like half an hour ago, I’d love to get lunch with you.”

He couldn’t suppress his beaming expression at her response. “And may I hold your hand when we go out?” Fjori ducked her head shyly in response to his eagerness, but nodded in confirmation, furthering his joy. He couldn’t help but close the gap between them and give her a quick, chaste kiss on the side of her mouth. “I can’t wait. Any plans for the meantime?”

“I’ll dump the bathwater, then take the clothes to the washing area by the well and get them cleaned up. Should keep me plenty busy.”

“Here, let me help with the tub. I’m heading that way anyhow.”

So each grabbed a side of the tub and transported it down the stairs and out the door without losing hardly any of the water within. She knew logically she could have handled the task herself, having honed muscles from extensive training and given his lack thereof, but somehow doing it with him made it seem easier. 

The first sight of the two of them together in public was therefore them contentedly sharing the burden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Fjori, the Divines aren't out to get you, it's just ME tormenting you and Quintus with awkward situations :P


	14. Cuprum or Oxidization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agh, those two get so close to finally resolving some tension. Too bad Quintus loses his hat and Fjori has to confess to past amorous actions...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuprum is Latin for copper, and provides the symbol for copper on the periodic charts. Oxidization is rust. While roughly the same color, the point of view makes one sound much better than the other. This chapter is a lot about point of view. I'm so deep!
> 
> Also, I had this headcanon (and you'll see why this is a funny pun later) that I finally figured out how to work into the story. It answers the question of why Quintus ALWAYS is wearing a hat.

Lunch was good. Fjori, being from the interior marshes, rarely got the chance to indulge in the steaming-hot clam chowder from creatures harvested along the wide mouth of the river Windhelm was built on. It warmed a person to the core despite the persistent chill in the air.

Then again, maybe the warmth she was radiating came from the fact that Quintus was holding her hand as they returned to the shop. It was disappointing that they had to wear gloves in the freezing temperatures, causing her to miss out on the contact of his skin against hers, but even still it was more than anyone had ever done to show their affections for her. He made it look so natural too, as if she belonged there at his side without question.

As for the people in the marketplace, most of the ones that knew her or knew him looked pleased to see them out and about together, much to her surprise. No prying questions, no judgement, just a few friendly inquiries and then good-natured banter. Damn, if she had known that being in public with him would be so easy, she would never have put up such a resistance! And already, she was regretting that the day was half-way over and she would not be able to do this again for a long time.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the jingling of his keys as he unlocked the front door to the shop, hand leaving hers to dangle uselessly at her side. “We weren’t even gone an hour, were we? I could be selfish and just lock the door behind me so we can have some time alone…”

“Sign’s already flipped to ‘closed’,” she reminded with a smile, following him inside as the door swung open.

He looked back at her with a sly grin. “I feel like we deserve it after being interrupted this morning.” Once she crossed the threshold, he latched the door and flipped the deadbolt. “I don’t get you here often, after all.”

“No. After today, I don’t know how long it will be. We use that Elder Scroll on top of the Throat of the World and hope to learn the shout that will defeat Alduin. Then we fight him and kill him if all goes according to plan. Lydia likes to remind me that things rarely do, though.”

His grin disappeared as the thought occurred to him. “Well, I hope you at least enjoyed lunch today. I know you were a bit nervous, but I want you to have something happy to look back on to matter how things go.”

“And you’ve given it to me,” she reassured him, stepping closer so her face hovered near his. “Nothing but happiness.” Without warning, she leaned down and kissed him. Funny, each time she did this it felt more and more natural… He let out a low moan of appreciation as her hands held the sides of his face, weaving through his sideburns as if to hold him there. The realization that someone could want HIM that badly was like a punch to the gut. It was almost enough to distract him from the fact that in her intensity she knocked his hat to the ground. Not quite.

Quintus always wore that hat. He had a good excuse, seeing as Windhelm was just about the coldest city in Skyrim, and the tired wooden building Nurelion had purchased hadn’t received the repairs it should have in the seven years since they’d moved in. Inside or outside, the hat stayed on his head, like an extension of him, only removed to bathe or sleep. Now that it had slipped off his head, he felt uncomfortably exposed. Startled, he broke away and stepped back. His right hand shot up to nervously run through his hair. The thing was, Fjori finally saw that there wasn’t that much of it.

She hadn’t really stopped to imagine what was under the hat. Her image of him always included it, seeing as he was wearing it every time she saw him. If she were honest though, she’d expected more considering how heavy his sideburns were. Looking closer, she realized that it wasn’t just a short haircut for the sake of keeping neat and trim. On either side of his forehead, his hairline was receding, leaving a prominent widow’s peak. With no long strands to brush over the bare spots, it stood out sharply in contrast to his red hair. Then again, his face was turning that color so akin to his hair color that it was growing less noticeable…

Only a second or two had passed, but it felt like an eternity and Quintus could not bear her curious gaze any longer. He reached down and fumbled for his hat. He wanted to say something, but what could he say? She’d have found out sooner or later considering she’d already decided she loved him. That didn’t make it any easier to bear. That didn’t make him any more attractive either. Silently then he moved to put the hat back on.

Her hand on his wrist stopped him. “Finally, I get you unraveled enough that you’re shedding clothes,” she quipped. Despite the vulgar implications of that statement, her expression remained soft and affectionate. She knew, oh sweet Mara she knew how uncomfortable his lack of hair made him feel.

“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t bother you,” he offered bitterly, struggling against her grip. It was futile to try and pull away from someone who wielded a war-axe for a living though. “I’m well aware I’m just a pity case.”

She wanted to tighten her grip, but held back knowing she would just end up bruising him. Instead, she scowled. “You’re only a pity case if you make yourself one. I see no reason for you to stoop to that level. Besides, I want to know you the way you are, and there’s nothing you should ever feel the need to pretend or hide.” Her eyes scanned his face, making him squirm under the scrutiny. “I want to remember what you look like now that I can finally see your entire face.” Her free hand traced up where his had been moments before, and despite his frustration the sensation on his scalp gave him chills.

“You won’t want to think back on how I look when you get lonely,” he asserted. “Nobody would get any pleasure from that.” He knew he was walking a dangerous line just shy of addressing physicality, and he knew that was a whole unexplored area between them. That wasn’t enough to keep him from blurting “I always thought maybe someday I’d have a wife who’d marry me for my money but sleep with someone else.”

It was as if he had flipped a switch in Fjori’s brain. A curtain descended over her features, leaving only a cold exterior. “At least your hair isn’t the unholy union of brown and red, like dried blood or rust. I’d kill to have fiery red hair like yours, like a fierce Nord warrior, or a rich chestnut color like a noblewoman belonging in furs. Mixing the two however does not give the best of both worlds, I can assure you.”

“B-but your hair is copper!” he protested, all his frustration cast to the winds with her sudden outburst.

Her shoulders sagged. “I hate my hair, but it doesn’t seem to bother you. Now, where am I going with this?”

Quintus swallowed. “I can hate my hair or lack thereof all I want, but you will continue to insist it doesn’t matter to you.”

“Damn right. I don’t want to hear you talk like that ever again.” Her eyes took a hard glint, and she put her hands on her hips. “Do I make myself clear?”

He wasn’t going down without a fight. “Fjori, I’m too young to look like this! I’m only 23! There’s no way despite your best intentions that you would still be attracted to a man who’s gone bald by 30.”

As soon as he uttered his deepest fears, he saw her eyebrow twitch in irritation. Pressing her mouth into a thin line, she ripped the hat from his hand, spun around, and promptly flung it into the fireplace. The poor young man was frozen in place, too shocked to move as the small flames started to eat away at the fur trim. “That’s my final answer. I don’t care how you present yourself in public, but when it is just you and me, I don’t want to see you wearing a hat. I want you to own everything that you are, because I love everything that you are.” Finally, her stormy exterior seemed to calm, and as she followed his eyes from her to the fireplace where the hat was quickly being consumed in the fire, she even looked a bit sheepish. “Sorry for destroying your hat, now that I think about it. I’ll buy another one; it’s too cold in this city to go without.”

“It’s okay, I probably could have stood to get a new one. It was pretty worn,” he blinked, still trying to process everything.

“Also, I’d gladly warm your bed any time, with or without your money.” At this, he turned and stared at her, unable to believe what his ears had just heard. To be fair, she herself looked like she couldn’t believe what she’d just said.

“Fjori?”

“Yes?” She was studying the floor intently, waiting for some form of admonishment. This was probably one of those times again where her brash Nord nature was going to get her in trouble with someone far more sophisticated.

Instead, he took a deep breath and asked “Will you join me in the back room?”

Truth be told, the whole passionate exchange had left Fjori feeling inexplicably turned on. Only good things could follow in the back room, away from any windows, with the store still locked up and the sign still reading ‘closed’. Her heart beat a little faster. “Yeah.” Despite the fact that he was the one to offer, she was the one that grabbed his hand and practically dragged him away.

As soon as they had rounded the corner, she released her hold on him. “Did you want to talk or…” She let the statement trail off, allowing him to fill in the blanks as desired.

“I wanted to pick up where we left off before,” he murmured.

Good,” she breathed. “I was hoping you’d say that.” Without a moment more of hesitation, she was on him. This time, she could feel him returning the gesture.

Never in her wildest dreams did she delude herself to think she would be full-on making out with Quintus Navale in the back storage room. It wasn’t because she didn’t desire it, but simply because she hadn’t thought he would agree to it, for reasons of propriety or simply because of who she was and who he was. Admittedly, she’d expected if it would have happened that he’d have been more timid and awkward. He was inexperienced, to be fair; she could tell from the way he seemed to rely on instinct as he kissed her, sloppy and perhaps a bit overzealous. She couldn’t say she disliked it, especially given the rawness of his intent. And pressed up against him, her arms wrapped around his waist and his trying to figure out where exactly one held the recipient of their kiss, she vaguely recognized the scent of so many flowers and herbs that he worked with day in and day out. The lavender stood out, and it calmed her even in this frenzy. Quintus wasn’t some brute eager for her body, she believed that whole-heartedly. The man was intelligent, passionate, polite, and being with him made her feel safe, as strange as that was for a Dragonborn.

Finally, in her eagerness to make him feel her own desire, she pushed him back against the wall, pinning him. Her hands moved from around his waist to a firm grip on his hips. That was when she felt it, something pressing against her thigh, something that could not be mistaken for anything else. Of course his body was reacting this way, why wouldn’t it given the situation? All the same, realizing Quintus had a sex drive threw her for a loop. She broke away, panting and studying his face. The alchemist was flushed, and equally out of breath, but when he realized that she had noticed what was happening under his clothes, he turned bright red.

“F-Fjori, please don’t think me lewd. I’m not expecting…I mean, I would never…”

“Would you want to?” was her blunt response. Though it may have come across a bit harshly, her face was soft, inquisitive, trying to figure out the situation.

“Would YOU want to?” was his defensive retort. Suddenly, the fire that had possessed him dampened exponentially, and he looked just as shy as she’d expected initially. It was as if he couldn’t imagine her wanting him in that way. Doubts about self-image weren’t just going to go up in smoke like his hat.

“I have feelings for you. Obviously,” she started to explain. “Feelings I’ve contemplated acting on if given the chance. But certainly not if you don’t want to. Or want me in that way. I mean, do you want me in that way?”

His jaw dropped. Could she actually be serious with that question? “Do I want you? Who wouldn’t want you?! You are strong, compassionate, heroic… By the Eight, why would you want ME? I know we’ve established our feelings for each other and I shouldn’t doubt you, but I still can’t help but feel I’m just an alchemist running a shop, nothing glorious or interesting about me. You could have any man, so what could I offer you?” The poor Imperial looked absolutely devastated as these thoughts materialized. She decided she never wanted to see that look again.

“Quintus, I’ve never come out and said it in these last few months, but I see you as patient, caring, smart and dedicated. I’ve never met a man like you, and I probably never will again, and being with you makes me happier than I can ever remember.” Slowly, waiting for a rebuke, she raised a hand to trace his burning cheek with her thumb. There was none. “Maybe it’s all too fast. I know us Nords like to rush into things, and I admit that in the past I have been burned by it.” A look of pain crossed her face, and Quintus made a note to inquire what she meant when this was all over. “I also realize you grew up in a place where the rules of courtship were very different. Do you wish to formally court me a while before doing anything physical? Do you wish to bed me just for today, a one-time moment of passion, and see where it leads?”

“I would never use you as a fling!” he declared indignantly. “I’d give you everything I had.” And suddenly he seemed to realize how melodramatic that statement sounded, wincing. “I want to court you, yes, but I also want to…to…” He couldn’t make himself say it. “I want you in every way possible.”

“Well then today’s your lucky day,” she smiled, leaning forward to capture his lips again. The Imperial seemed to melt in bliss as her lips molded to his. “It just so happens that I feel the same. Now, the question is whether you wish to seal the deal in a more… intimate way…” Her mouth dropped to his neck, eliciting a gasp from him as she gently sucked near his pulse point.

“I…uh…that is…” he stammered, thoughts in a jumble from the way she got him wound. That, and all the blood that had gone south, leaving his brain lacking it seemed. But Fjori was sensitive, and even at the slightest hint of unease she ceased her actions and looked at him expectantly. Quintus swallowed hard, and seemed to shrink a bit. “There is something you should know about that.”

She furrowed her brow in confusion. Quintus squirmed, averted his gaze, and bit his lip. “I don’t…I mean…” He couldn’t quite get it out, but Fjori patiently waited for him to succeed, urging him to calm down by gently rubbing his forearms. This got him to look her in the eye, and it shocked him how invested she appeared in his answer, in his own feelings. He trusted her. “I’ve never…” Just like that his gaze fell once more. That was all she needed to know. Was she surprised that Quintus was a virgin in his twenties? Not really. His rigorous apprenticeship clearly left little time for pursuing girls. And maybe it was the fact that this didn’t surprise her that made it no big deal.

Her smile was warm now, no longer lustful. “And would you want your first time to be with me?”

“Only if it doesn’t…turn you away.” The look of shame on his face was completely uncalled for in her opinion, as if having refrained from physical intimacy made him less of a man. “You’d probably prefer a partner who knows what he’s doing to make it good for you… You’ve probably had partners who were amazing, but I-”

“Quintus,” she interrupted seriously, the smile running away from her face, “I’ve only ever been with one other. And it was not…well, let’s say you don’t really have competition. Being kissed by you has already been better than what was shared in that relationship. Hell, just you holding my hand has already been a huge improvement.”

“You mentioned something about it before, but you’ve seriously only had one partner?” he stared in disbelief. “An amazing woman like you?”

Fjori gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, they’d like to. That doesn’t mean I’d allow them to.”

“But me, you’d have.”

“In a heartbeat. You are a worthy man.” She could read his conflicted emotions, and recognized that the passion of the moment was gone. That wasn’t bad, these things had to be discussed. But now was no longer the time to act. Between this and her outburst before, it was probably for the best to let emotions simmer down. Feeling like the clock was ticking before she had to leave was no excuse to rush into things. “Listen, Quintus, I’ll come back in a few hours and give you time to think things over. You know how I feel, and I will wait for you to decide on how you feel. I’ll bring dinner. We’ll talk. And after that, we’ll see how it goes.” Finally, she pulled away, exposing the Imperial. He suddenly felt cold, missing her heat. And as she walked out the door, he realized that he very much disliked the idea of her leaving.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Quintus swallowed a mouthful of rabbit haunch, wondering if he should ask what had been on his mind all afternoon since their emotional exchange. Her look as she sat across from him at the table seemed to dare him, even as she chewed her own portion. “So, Fjori, there’s something I’ve been wondering.”

“Yes?” She set down her fork and met his gaze expectantly. So direct, always.

“There’s something I’d like to ask you before we, you know…”

“Anything.”

Quintus took a deep breath, trying to find his courage. “You said there had been only one other that you’d taken to bed, and that you didn’t enjoy it very much. You also said he didn’t want to be seen with you. Why was that?”

Her eyebrows raised, but she knew she shouldn’t be surprised Quintus had latched onto these details. Given her mood swings lately, Lydia was also probably starting to wonder what her issues were. She didn’t like thinking about Benor and what had transpired between them, but he deserved to know why she came across so broken. He had to know it was never anything he had done. 

“I was young and trapped in a small town and always curious. There was another around my age, though a little bit older. He approached me and offered to show me how great sex was.” Quintus looked visibly repulsed at those words; he seemed to guess the turn this would take. “I wanted to know. I wanted something fun to do in that dreary marsh village, so I agreed to it. I had my first time in the jail of the guard’s barracks where no one would find us. No prisoners at that time, you see.” She managed a thin, bitter smile at the memory. So much regret looking back, but at the time, she had been so young and stupid. It was mortifying.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but that sounds…subpar,” Quintus stated cautiously.

“It was. Looking back, it’s obvious he was just waiting for a chance to get laid, and I was his best bet. But he didn’t even try to make it good for me. It was a lot of invasive kissing, groping, and ultimately just rutting. Hurt a lot more than it felt good.” She closed her eyes, as if recalling the pain.

“That was the end of it then,” he concluded, worried at the expression that had come over her face.

“No,” she admitted softly, and when she opened her eyes, he saw the glisten of tears. “It should have been, but I was weak. When he approached me again a few days later, I told him I wasn’t interested, but he was so good at playing the guilt card, said I’d already done it with him and we were a thing, that he’d get better at it with more experience. My resolve always broke even though it didn’t get better. He ignored me every time I made a suggestion or said I wanted something different. And outside of the sex, he pretended there was nothing between us. Said it was so we wouldn’t draw suspicion. Didn’t want people to know I was being a whore with him, and if I stopped giving him my body he’d make it known. I was stuck and didn’t know how to get out, and I’ve never felt weaker.” Her words started to quicken and blur together as her emotions claimed her.

Quintus stood up abruptly, sending his chair flying back and clattering against the floor. He hurried around to her side of the table and knelt next to her, wrapping his arms around her. “Fjori, that bastard abused you…”

Something about this tender display of protectiveness from the normally mild-mannered shopkeeper made her feel even weaker. She began to openly cry, and he could feel the tremors through her body as he held her. “I let him do it. I deserved it…”

“No!” he exclaimed, looking into her eyes. His normally passive features held a new fire. “That’s what they want their victims to think, but he’s the one at fault, not you! He manipulated you when you were vulnerable. By the Eight, Fjori, it’s no crime to be a vulnerable adolescent!”

“I finally got a chance to take a mercenary job,” she continued through choked sobs. “It took me away from Morthal. And I kept finding more just so I wouldn’t have to come home. My parents didn’t care, they’d always wanted me to make a career as a warrior like my namesake, but they never knew the real reason I didn’t come back.”

“Fjori,” he soothed, raising a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, “I understand what you meant now. No wonder you’ve never tried anything with anyone else since then. And I must seem…safe to you, so you’ve entertained the idea again after all this time.” Though his voice was even, she could read a bit of sadness in his face, as if he thought he was chosen just because he’d be easy.

“Quintus, there is some truth in that, but don’t take it the wrong way. I’m not pursuing you because I think you’d be easy to take control from, just because I want my fix. You make me feel safe in a way that lets me try being vulnerable again. I want to believe that…two people uniting can be beautiful. When I look at you, I feel there is hope it could be true. Being with you makes me feel something I’ve never felt before. That’s all.”

The normally dominant warrior seemed smaller, pitiful. Now there was worry written across her features, like she thought he’d gotten the wrong idea about her advances. Even though this confession had been necessary to move forwards, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of guilt at how upset his question had made her. “I may not have experience, but where it counts, it doesn’t sound like you do either. Perhaps we could navigate that path together. But not tonight, Fjori. I think tonight you and I just hold each other awhile. Is that agreeable to you?”

“I’d like that,” she whispered softly, voice catching in her throat. 

“Come then, let’s go lie down for a bit.” He rose and held up his arm so she could brace herself against him and stand as well. With one arm possessively wrapped around her waist, he guided her up the stairs to the freshly made bed.

They spent that evening pressed against each other, though no flames of passion were kindled. The night was filled with small talk instead, old stories about their pasts, sincere compliments and tender caresses. As sleep began to take her, Fjori marveled through the haze that despite being in the arms of a simple alchemist, she felt safer than she’d ever felt in years.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Lydia had been very good about holding her tongue until they were safely out of earshot and on the road to Ivarstead. Finally, she let loose. “All right, my Thane, now you can tell me all about your day. Was it worth 100 gold?”

“It was worth a thousand at least,” she replied without resistance.

Lydia’s eyebrows shot up. “It was that good, huh?”

Fjori frowned and studied her companion. “Lydia, if you are implying what I think you are implying, you should know that we did no such thing. We had a lot of deep conversations, we went public with our relationship and got lunch in the market, had a nice dinner for two, and had a lot more deep conversations. Then we fell asleep cuddling innocently. Okay, so yes, we shared a bed. But not like that, I swear.”

“But when Quintus opened the door this morning, he looked all out of sorts,” Lydia mused skeptically.

Fjori waved. “It’s Quintus. You know how jumpy he gets. He probably was worried about being seen sharing a bed.” That wasn’t the entire truth, but it wasn’t a lie.

“I guess.” Lydia still sounded unconvinced, but now her thoughtful face turned a bit wistful. “Must be nice to get all those deep conversations out of you…”

Fjori realized with a start that Lydia was JEALOUS. Pinching her nose, she inhaled deeply. “I suppose that while I’m on a roll, I may as well just tell you about Benor. It might explain a few weird things I’ve been doing lately. Besides, we’ve got a lot of time to kill before we get to Ivarstead…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for any readers who thought to themselves "What fun stuff is Fjori referencing at the end of the chapter that we didn't get to hear about", I don't like upping my ratings for a handful of scenes that could be omitted and maintain a cohesive story. Thusly, keep your eyes open for a separate story where I will accumulate these...more delicate scenes. Hopefully that will satisfy those of you ready to throw a chair at a wall over slow burns!


	15. Chain Reaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fjori regrets her deal with Lydia, especially now that Alduin didn't go down at the Throat of the World. Meanwhile, Quintus gets the dreaded summons from the Palace of Kings, which sets in motion a great many unpleasant things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a long hiatus, trouble is finally brewing in Windhelm! I've had this idea in mind for a long time but just never got around to writing it. Shame on me.

Lydia continued chewing her bread and cheese as she watched her Thane study the book from Avrusa, the Dragonborn running her thumb over the embossed leather edges of the cover repeatedly. When they sat on the fallen log for a break, she had taken the time to retrieve the book from her pack only to do this, and two things bothered Lydia about this scene. One was that Fjori was more interested in the tome than in eating her portion of the lunch, which they had stopped to consume in a shady glen of birch trees around midday. Come to think of it, ever since descending from High Hrothgar, she hadn’t eaten hardly a thing. It was worrisome. The second thing was that Fjori never took an interest in books. Unless it was a rare item she could sell for a healthy amount or something she could give as a favor to someone, she left the books sit on the shelves where she found them in any cave or bandit stronghold. This deserved a question as soon as her mouth wasn’t full.

“What’s so interesting about Sinderion’s speech? You cultivate an interest in nirnroot after gathering all that crimson stuff down in Blackreach?”

The light-hearted remark did nothing to ease the frown etched onto Fjori’s face. “No, this would be lost on me. It would be fascinating to someone else, though.”

“Ah, I see.” Lydia paused for a moment, deciding on the right thing to say to her gloomy companion. “What a great surprise it will make when you give it to him after defeating Alduin.”

Apparently, those were not the right words, because Fjori only hung her head. “What if I don’t ever get to see him again, Lydia? Don’t pretend to be optimistic for my sake; we just tried to fight Alduin and couldn’t take him down even after traveling through time and learning the shout that was supposed to be our ultimate weapon. What, their best idea was to trap a dragon and get the information from him on where to find Alduin’s hiding spot so we can be defeated again? The best case scenario is that I travel across Skyrim gathering more shouts and becoming stronger, which could take months, and in which time Alduin could just as easily get stronger.”

“That’s why you haven’t been eating,” Lydia murmured, setting down her chunk of bread. “Look, I know it may be the truth, but if you think that way, you will be defeated before you even begin. You and I will take some time and explore ruins rumored to contain word walls. Give it at least a month, and I think your growth in strength will outdo any growth in Alduin’s.”

“I know, I know.” Fjori clutched the book to her chest. “It still sucks. The whiny, immature part of me wanted his to be over one way or another back at High Hrothgar. Now the whole Dragonborn thing is getting dragged on. And…” She desperately conjured up images of clam chowder in the marketplace, the weight of his hand holding hers, running her fingertips through his scant hair, the warmth of his body pressed next to hers, the look of pure pleasure she had put on his face that morning before having to leave him behind. It was supposed to make her feel better, but instead it nearly made her choke. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

But Lydia knew, and she had to admit, Fjori was doing her best to handle the situation with grace as a Dragonborn ought to. As a young woman, however, Fjori was not taking this well, and it was enough to make even a stickler to duty feel some remorse for the promise she’d demanded. Still, she couldn’t go back on it. Seeing the World Eater destroyed had to come first. Lydia scooted closer to her on the log they shared. “Perhaps you should send that book with a courier, write him a letter letting him know how you are doing and what lies ahead.”

“The letter I’ll send. I want to give him this book in person, though. I want to see the way his face will light up when I hand him such a hard-to-come-by copy of a master alchemist’s speech.” Sighing, she squeezed the book tightly, then moved to put it away again.

“My Thane, I know you don’t have much of a stomach for it right now, but will you please at least eat a little? You need to keep up your strength.”

It was true, she had next to no appetite. If push came to shove, though, she figured she could endure a few bites without vomiting. “All right. Then we continue to Riften.”

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Since that morning two days ago, nothing had been the same for Quintus. It would have been distracting enough if the only memories disturbing him were innocent ones (though he had enough of those too, the few times he’d stirred a pot of soup or taken off his hat before bed). The less than innocent ones, though… Those made him go red in the face, and thankfully it hadn’t happened in front of any customers yet. Mostly, he thought about how he disliked the way things were left, Fjori dashing out the door, late for her next mission, with Lydia goading her along and no time to talk about what had transpired. Was it weird that he had so many mixed feelings, or was it normal for people to feel confused after getting intimate?

Perhaps the worst part was knowing he wouldn’t be able to get it off of his chest for an undefined amount of time, most likely a long time. Fjori had told him she had to finish Alduin and would not be able to return until that had happened. By Akatosh, what if she was killed and they never got to talk about it? Besides of course the fact that losing her would be utterly devastating! He would never be able to remain in Skyrim then, it would all be too painful to endure. But that was getting ahead of himself, one of his flaws to be certain. All he could do was burry himself in his work to try and take his mind off of his anxiety.

In fact, he was so deep in his potion brewing that he didn’t register the sound of the doorbell. It took the courier clearing his throat to get the young man’s attention, which of course nearly made him drop all of his Bleeding Crown into the mixture. “Message for Quintus Navale.”

“Ah, yes, that’s me,” he mumbled, setting down his mushrooms and pestle and wiping his hands quickly on his apron. “Thank you. Here, let me…”

The man held up his hand. “No need to tip, the sender already took care of it. Besides, it was hardly a difficult delivery to make, coming all the way from the Palace of Kings!” The courier smiled, but Quintus could feel the blood freeze in his veins.

“Oh, I- I see. Well, thank you again.” But that was a lie, because he was not at all thankful for whatever was in this envelope. He couldn’t control his trembling hand as he took the letter from the courier. Thankfully the messenger didn’t seem to notice.

“Looks like that’s it. Got to go.” He saluted, then left the same way he entered.

There was silence as Quintus just stared at the royal seal on the back flap. Maybe this was just him overthinking things again. Maybe it was an innocent request, or not even a request at all… Finally he found the nerve to break the seal and withdraw the envelope’s contents. Immediately, his eyes were drawn to the signature at the bottom: Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. He closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. He started from the top, and by the time he reached the signature once more, he had moved to a chair so he could collapse. He hadn’t overthought this, he had been exactly right.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Riften was a mess. It wasn’t the first time Fjori had been in this city, seeing as a few jobs had taken her to the area. However, she had apparently forgotten just how lousy with scum it was. The guards had tried to shake her down upon entry (of course they’d backed down once she broke out her best intimidation face). Some punk mercenary that made HER look smart threatened her to keep moving and leave Blackbriar interests alone. A poor Redguard kid was being harassed by a shady-looking woman who seemed to have cheated him. The list could go on and on, but Fjori quickly decided it would be best to duck into the inn. 

Even that didn’t alleviate the amount of problems, as she ran right into the shady woman and felt compelled to threaten her to back off the kid. Not two seconds later, some smooth-talking bastard tried to convince her she didn’t get her money honestly and should consider helping him steal a ring and plant it on some innocent. Fjori did her best to kill him with her glare, but sadly it didn’t work. It did cause him to back off, which finally gave her an opening to sit at a table. She groaned as she sank into the chair.  
Lydia joined her across the table. “I very much appreciate Whiterun.”

“Agreed…”

“Good evening, ladies,” a velvety voice greeted. They looked over to see a green-scaled Argonian in a bar uniform smiling politely. Then again, perhaps that wasn’t a smile; Fjori didn’t have much exposure to Argonians and found them difficult to read. “May I interest you in one of our specialty drinks?”

“Divines, yes, I need some alcohol! What do you have?” Fjori began to dig out her coin purse in anticipation. She might need several at this rate.

The bartender proceeded to describe his unique creations, which sparked the Dragonborn’s interest at each turn. “I’ll have to try them all at some point, but probably not all at once. I suppose tonight I’m feeling…” She almost leaned towards the Velvet LeChance, but as soon as she recalled the touch of nightshade he’d described, it made her think of Quintus. The point of drinking was to forget, not to remember. “…Cliffracer. I like living on the edge.”

“Excellent, I will bring one right away. And for you?”

Lydia shrugged. “I’ll just take a mead.”

“Regular Blackbriar or Blackbriar Reserve?”

“No Honningbrew?”

The Argonian made a face, or again, seemed to by Fjori’s estimation. “Not in this city.”

“Okay…I guess regular then.”

“Very good. I will be back in a few moments with your drinks, ladies.” Their reptilian waiter gave a nod and scurried back to the bar, leaving the two women to themselves.

“What was that supposed to mean?” Lydia questioned, leaning to rest her chin in her hand.

Fjori snorted in disgust. “The Blackbriar family runs a huge mead industry here, and they do not suffer competition. Remember that blow-hard brute back near the city gate that tried to threaten me?”

“Thieves Guild and Dark Brotherhood watching their backs,” the housecarl recalled with a grimace. “Who admits to that?”

“Someone who knows they are too wealthy and well-connected to be touched. Of course, that certainly doesn’t make one invincible…” Fjori lowered her voice. “If I stay here too long I might snap and kill a Blackbriar on accident.”

“How long do we plan on staying?”

“A day to rest up, sell some goods, the usual. Then it’s a carriage back to Whiterun to plot our next tomb raid.”

“Tomb-raiding sounds like a good plan,” Lydia agreed.

“Excuse me, but did you say tomb-raiding?” Both women jolted at the sound of the waiter’s voice. He had returned to their table brandishing a bottle of mead and an elaborate mixed concoction in a mug, but the slits of his pupils studied the pair with great interest. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help but overhear. I have need of someone to find three flawless amethysts for me, and I was wondering if you might be able to aid me.”

Lydia tilted her head in a way that clearly said ‘don’t think about it’, but Fjori couldn’t help but ask “Why such a specific thing?”

The waiter set down the drinks before his customers. “I need them for a ring.” When Fjori still looked confused, he risked a glance back at the bar where the inn’s proprietress was haranguing a customer who had had too much to drink. She too was an Argonian, though with pale pink scales and a voice far more abrasive. When the waiter gave a happy sigh, Fjori knew from experience that he was quite fond of her, despite her rough exterior and harsh words. To each their own, she supposed. “I wish to marry Keerava, but Argonian tradition requires a wedding band with three flawless amethysts be given. There are two stones for the couple to be married, and one for the Hist. I can’t propose to her properly until I can get the ring made. I know it shouldn’t matter whether traditions are followed or not when we both feel the same, but still, it wouldn’t feel official without it.”

“I may have some at home. Otherwise, I’ll keep my eyes open,” Fjori promised quickly, reaching for her mug.

“I thank you for your kind offer. I had been afraid you would decline,” he admitted.

“So, to whom do I owe the amethysts?”

He extended his hand. “Talen-Jei. And to whom do I owe the gratitude?”

As with the Dunmer in Windhelm, Fjori hesitated briefly as she contemplated the unusual hand extended to her. If she thought it would be strange to touch one with such dark skin, she knew it would be extremely strange to touch a hand covered in scales. Still, she didn’t want to hesitate for too long and risk insulting the kindly waiter. She reached out and shook, trying not to make a surprised face at how clammy his hands were. “Fjori.”

“A pleasure. Please, enjoy your drinks, and let me know if you need anything else tonight.” He bowed again, a honed reflex in his line of work, and took his leave. Lydia waited for him to leave earshot before offering her opinion.

“Another fetch quest? Really?”

“Hey, if I have them lying around, why not?” Carelessly, the Nord woman tossed back the Cliffracer, savoring the way it burned on the way down. Must be the Sujamma, though this was tempered with Firebrand Wine among other things. More refined than her drink back in the Grey Quarter, to be certain. “Besides, if I get killed and Alduin wins, at least those two can be happily married.” Fjori looked down into her mug, swirling the contents absently. Getting married. What a crazy thought…

Lydia didn’t have the heart to say anything in response. She knew by now.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Quintus wasn’t sure why he bothered to wait until closing time to head for the palace; it wasn’t as if he was getting much done. He’d spent the remaining hours of the day trying to plan just what he would say to the Bear of Eastmarch when he arrived. He felt nauseous from the anxiety and nearly paced a rut into the floorboards behind the counter. Maybe, just maybe he would be asked to help in a way that would be acceptable to his ideals. If not, however…he didn’t want to think about what would happen, but a few ideas did cross his mind despite his best efforts.

As he approached the palace for the second time in a month, he held out his invitation like some kind of warding talisman, hoping to avoid any conflicts with the guards. His confrontation from last time was not easily forgotten. They just grunted and stepped aside, allowing him entrance but doing nothing to help with his struggle to open the heavy doors.

Just his luck, the same guard who had been on duty last time was at the same post. “Hold there, alchemist. What business have you in the Palace of Kings?” Without a word, he held out the letter, which the guard snatched from his hands to read. Hey, surprise, the guard was able to read… “I see. So Ulfric’s got a job for you. Get to it, then. He’s waiting at the other end of the hall. You’ve kept him waiting long enough.” Quintus nodded mutely, reaching for his letter, then hurrying across the massive space. It seemed to go on forever, especially when he could feel even from that distance Ulfric’s bright, keen eyes watching his every movement from his spot perched on his throne. Bear? The man looked more like his own hawk statues right about now.

Once he was within a few feet of the throne, Ulfric’s voice finally boomed. “Hail, alchemist. Navale, I believe.”

“Y-yes, sir.” Quintus stood before the man, still keeping some distance between them. He gave a stiff bow. “I received your summons, and I apologize for the delay; I wanted to wait for closing before leaving the shop.”

Ulfric dismissed his concern with a wave of his meaty hand. “No worries. What matters is that you are here. We have much business to discuss for the war efforts. Would you prefer to take a seat and share a mead?”

“No offense, my Lord, but I am feeling a bit under the weather,” Quintus attempted weakly. “I don’t think a mead would be a good idea.”

“Of course. I’m sorry to hear it.” Was he really? He spoke the words mechanically, as if by rote. “Then I will not take up too much of your time. I need some assistance for our soldiers on the front line, and have drafted an order of materials I need. You will be compensated for the cost of ingredients as well as your time, naturally.” Ulfric shifted so he could reach into the pouch on his belt and dug out a folded piece of parchment. “You will find all the specifications here. Please, look it over and let me know if it would be feasible to have it all within the week.”

Quintus drew a shaky breath, and he knew Ulfric could see just how concerned he was about what was written. Still, he faked a smile and took the paper, unfolding it and beginning to read. There were healing potions, no surprise there, and that he could do no problem. As his eyes scanned further, he felt his heart sink. Potions for fortifying attacks, magical and physical. And poisons, so many poisons… Items that would be crafted with the knowledge that they were meant to harm. He had to blink, as the words seemed to spin on the page. He knew without a doubt he didn’t want to do this. But were his ideals worth giving up the comfortable life he had?

“I can certainly get you those healing potions, sir. I can’t, however, deliver on the rest.” He ducked his head and waited for the reply. Sweet Arkay, please let this offer be enough to satisfy the man! Please take away the choice!

The response carried the unmistakable tone of disappointment. “I was afraid you would say that, Navale. But to be clear, you CAN’T make the rest of the items on the list, or you WON’T make them?”

“I…” Words seemed to dry up in his throat. Ulfric was right, there was a big difference between those two things. Could he say what he truly meant, all Imperial tact and guile aside? Countless academics before him had sold themselves out to rulers’ political whims in the interest of continuing their work, so who would judge him now if he yielded to the imposing Jarl of Windhelm?

Nurelion would. He would never have compromised what he thought was important, would never allow for himself to be used as a tool in other men’s wars. In fact, Nurelion had warned him of just this sort of thing in his final letter, had wished for him to stand up for himself almost as if he’d known this very day were coming. Knowing his pupil would sink to such a level even after all his attempts to light the spark of rebellion within him would have him turning in his grave. 

For that matter, Fjori wouldn’t yield either. She would sooner get into a fist-fight with the man than bend to him if she disagreed, for better or for worse. Could such a spirited woman ever love a coward? No, she could never be his if he would be so spineless as to compromise his morals. Fjori did countless dangerous things, and to be worthy of her, he should be able to do this one, simple thing: utter the two words Ulfric didn’t want to hear. 

It was terrifying, but more than he wanted security, he wanted to do right by them and be able to live with himself.

“I won’t.” The words seemed to echo off the stone walls, though he knew he was so quiet that such a thing was impossible. “My alchemy is to heal others, not cause harm. I will heal your soldiers whenever you need, but the rest of these tasks…I won’t. And with all due respect, sir, I will not change my mind. It’s a matter of honor as a man. I believe you understand the value of such honor, so please, do not ask it of me again.” Quintus clenched his fists, bracing himself for the wrath. Perhaps in a fit of rage Ulfric would blast him to dust like he did with High King Torygg…

Instead, Ulfric’s words were deep, calm, though certainly still upset. “Aye, I know plenty about honor. My men and I fight and die against those that have lost theirs. But do you understand that if you do not lend your skills fully to our cause, you do not demonstrate complete loyalty to your Jarl and therefore have no place in Windhelm?”

“That…would be a reasonable outcome, I suppose,” Quintus ventured timidly. “Not something I would like to see happen, of course. The city needs a healer, and there are no other practicing alchemists here. Surely as long as I stay out of trouble I can continue to serve your citizens in their daily matters, allowing them to worry about your war effort…”  
His logic fell on deaf ears. “You can be replaced, Imperial. And by a Nord, no doubt, one who will prove loyal to Skyrim and the Stormcloak cause. This is clearly not your home.”

“My Master and I have served Windhelm for seven years without any cause for doubt!” he protested. “The White Phial…”

“Is no longer yours.” Ulfric slowly rose from his throne, towering menacingly over the meek Imperial. “But I will respect that honor of yours. You have until the crack of dawn to clean out whatever belongings you can carry and be on your way. The city is taking the shop and all remaining contents from you, as is standard procedure for those accused of treason. If not for your good service in those seven years that you mention, you would face far worse. If I were you, I would start packing. Secunda and Masser are already on the rise.” With that, the Jarl stalked out of the room. “Return to Cyrodiil where you belong, Imperial. Go play the noble scholar for those Thalmor puppets and see where it gets you.”

It took several long moments for Quintus to realize that he was shaking, and violently. He was alive, but in a few hours he would have little more than that to be grateful for. Suddenly, a gauntleted hand grabbed his arm roughly, hard enough to leave a bruise, and he gave a startled cry as the guard from the entrance began to drag him away. He didn’t protest, as humiliating as it was to be hauled around like a ragdoll. The guard was fast with his longer legs, and before he knew what was happening the sharp bite of the wind assailed his face and he was being flung down the stairs. More bruises, now with some cuts. “Good riddance, Imperial trash. Don’t you dare show your face around here again!”

Quintus struggled to his feet as the guards stationed outside began to join in on the jeers. It didn’t help when he felt balls of snow and ice begin to pelt him, nearly knocking him back down. In that moment, all he could focus on was escape. It took a few teetering steps before he could get his feet under him, and then finally he ran in the familiar direction of the White Phial. Perhaps for the last time ever.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVv

Fjori sat at Balimund’s forge, patiently whittling down the gold ingot she’d taken from some bandits in the Riften forests. Lydia was occupied with purchasing supplies, giving her at least a little time by herself to complete this personal task. With something as valuable as gold, she was glad to have had some skill with smithing even before the Oengul War-Anvil tutorial. This was not something she wanted to look shoddy.

Talking to Talen-Jei the night before had gotten her thinking. Argonians had this traditional way of showing their commitment to one another. Nords didn’t really have much similar. They could wear the Amulet of Mara, but that had more of a connotation of official marriage (and even if she didn’t have to save the world, it was too soon to think about that!). Even this was a relatively new practice; a few hundred years ago, she knew her ancestor’s simply lived with whomever they wanted, official unions be damned. Did Imperials have traditions? Would Quintus like a token of affection? She had no idea. The best she could think of was to smith a ring, like Talen-Jei wanted to give his lover. It would be something he could wear and think of her. The stone didn’t have any real significance, it simply happened to be a sapphire she happened upon in her recent explorations. However, she had plans to enchant it with a fortify alchemy enchantment as soon as it was finished.

Pulling the smoldering metal from the white-hot fire, she wiped her brow and began to shape the pliant material. She still didn’t want to send him the book, but perhaps she’d send him this when it was finished, so he could know without a doubt that she was serious. The whole separation thing sucked, but at least if she could imagine him happily brewing away at his alchemy station in the White Phial wearing her ring on his finger, that made things a little bit better.


	16. Fission and Fusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything that leads up to Quintus's exile. Surprise, Fjori doesn't even show up in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh, this headcannon has become one of my favorite things! Dunmer friends and the human-version of Nurelion lending a helping hand!

The longest night of his life began the moment he set foot in the Palace of Kings. In truth, he probably hadn’t been in there for more than a few minutes, but it had felt like hours as he withstood Ulfric’s demands, and ultimately his decree of banishment. Fearing for one’s life certainly made time seem to crawl. Then, the walk home also felt like forever as he limped along, fighting the dull pain in his body from the rough treatment he’d received. The only consolation was that no one had been around to see him in his sorry condition. He’d had to stop and rest on more than one occasion, catching his breath and gently rubbing the sore spots where particularly vicious chunks of ice had caught his back. He felt truly pathetic. It would have been so easy to break down, but there was no time for that. Dawn would arrive before he was prepared the way it was.

Finally, Quintus unlocked the door to the shop. He stared as the light from the street braziers illuminated silhouettes of items along the counter. Ulfric had said this was not home, and at the time he thought perhaps the man had spoken true. Now, standing there, he didn’t believe it anymore. He wasn’t ready to leave the store Nurelion had founded, where he had spent a third of his life, where he had lost his master not long before. Throwing the door closed, plunging the room into darkness, he finally sank to the floor against the sturdy door and allowed himself to crumble. Better to get it over with than to withhold it and have it come out when they came for him.

As the tears poured from his eyes, he questioned why this was such a big deal. He had no real reason to stay in Skyrim with Nurelion dead. This had been a sort of study abroad, and now it was over. This wasn’t his real home no matter how fond of it he had become. He had his family in Cyrodiil, he had his education and several impressive accomplishments to boast of. He would not be ridiculed or harassed for his race, and would blend in far better. He could easily get a good job, provided he made it back safely and wasn’t killed by bandits on the roads. Wait, what if Ulfric staged some “bandits” so he could off him without it looking like he’d been too harsh in the eyes of his citizens?

But if he were being honest, the dangers of the roads weren’t what kept him from embracing his return to Cyrodiil. What would Fjori think if he just disappeared and left the province? They hadn’t been a couple for that long, surely she couldn’t expect he’d stay just for her… But they’d shared something special, something intimate. Part of him would forever feel guilty for walking away after she’d revealed so much of herself. The whole thing would be so much easier if they hadn’t just had that day together, even more so if they hadn’t fooled around the morning she’d left! Suddenly, he realized that he NEEDED her to help him make the decision, and with her nowhere around, he felt helpless. It was terrifying, and it triggered a sudden swell of emotion as his sobs returned. Would she come running once she heard the news? Would she search for him, putting off her own missions? Would he become a burden to her? It frustrated him that despite the countless logically sound reasons to leave, this one hopeful reason could counter all of it and make this so difficult.

Finally, after several more indulgent minutes, he wiped the tears away and did his best to get back up. As much as he could carry. The rest he could worry about later. Quintus moved to light an oil lamp and begin taking stock of his options. It disgusted him to think Ulfric wouldn’t know what to do with most of this stuff and would probably pawn it off or let it rot somewhere. If he could take a few simple tools, he could still prepare a couple of salves even while traveling. Better get the bag and start packing it in as carefully as possible.

Quintus dragged himself up the stairs, ultimately going on his hands and knees as his body protested. Once he reached the landing and his eyes fell on the bookshelves, he realized what should have been obvious the whole time: nothing in this building was more precious than Nurelion’s research notes. His heart sank in dismay; he’d never be able to carry all of the books by himself! Maybe if he were a strong, beefy Nord he’d be able to carry all that weight, but not as he was! How was he going to select only the most important tomes? The idea of leaving them to Ulfric made him feel sick, but there were few options. He resigned himself to find the biggest pack available and start the selection process. Leave a little room for a mortar and pestle, his gold, and that would be about it.

It was hard to know how much time had elapsed when he heard a knock at the door. He had only just weeded out half of the books and begun arranging them carefully in the pack, and his heart thundered in apprehension. There was no way it was time! Had Ulfric changed his mind and ordered his execution? It took him so long to stand and make his way down the stairs that the knocking repeated. “I’m coming!” he announced weakly, teetering to the door. Damn, it seemed the more time passed, the worse his bruises seemed to feel.

When he pulled open the door, he was relieved to see the faces of Malthyr, Elthyr, Revyn, and a whole host of other Dunmer from the Grey Quarter. Before he could even ask, Revyn stepped forward. “We’ll talk once we’re inside,” he hissed, and Quintus quickly stood back to allow the group entrance. Once the last one entered, the door was latched. “Now, serah, we must be quick. We know the guard patrol’s routes, and we’ve got no more than ten minutes.”

“To do what?” Quintus stared blankly.

“To get some of your goods out of here before Ulfric can snatch them up!” Ambarys declared, rolling up his sleeves. “There are plenty of places to stash things in the Atheron residence.”

“I’m as discreet as I am resourceful,” Aval Atheron winked with a smirk. Wait, Quintus had seen him before at a stall in the market. What was he doing here?

“Well, that does sound better than letting them go to waste,” Quintus admitted, scratching his head. “I’d hate for him to…wait a moment, how do you know about that?”

“The court wizard stopped by the Corner Club,” Malthyr supplied. “A bold move, to be sure. Apparently, he may be Ulfric’s staunch supporter, but he doesn’t like this. He told us what was going to happen to you, and suggested we get over here to help.

Quintus was simultaneously baffled and touched. He’d have to think about it later. “I must say, your appearance is very welcome, but won’t you get in trouble when Ulfric finds an empty store?”

“True, we can’t take everything,” a Dunmer woman admitted, “But we can take the things that are the most valuable.” She seemed familiar. Perhaps the woman who was often walking around with Grimvar Cruel-Sea in tow?

Quintus nodded slowly. “I’ll be glad if you can use it to help yourselves. You have been good neighbors to us for all these years.”

“O-ho, I think you misunderstand, my boy,” Revyn smiled gleefully. “And I think you will find us even better neighbors when you do understand. We’re not going to use the stuff or sell it, we are going to stash it for you so when you return, you can claim it again.”

The Imperial gawked. “You would…do that for me? But what if I don’t make it back?”

Ambarys barked a laugh. “Boy, do you really think Fjori is going to let this stand? Once she finds out, she’ll have Ulfric’s head on a platter, and believe me, I won’t shed any tears over it.”

“You…know Fjori?”

Almost everyone in the room nodded.

“She doused the lights of Rolff Stone-Fist. You know, the Housecarl’s idiot brother? I can’t tell you how satisfying that was for all of us!”

“She paid double the price of our Sujamma and downed the shot better than half the Dunmer customers I’ve ever had! Hell, she paid for my drink too!”

“She saw I was in a rough place and bought several things from my stall. Traded me some real nice things that caught the eye of other customers to boot.”

“She helped me get my crops in before the snowstorm!”

And on it on it went, much to his wonder and pride. Somehow, when he hadn’t been paying attention, his Fjori had been making a name for herself among the lower classes of the city, not just with the rich citizens that hired her out. “She is pretty wonderful,” he smiled for the first time all day.

“She is. And even though many of us would have helped you out because we know you’re a good guy and you’ve always dealt fairly with us, even more of us turned out because you are important to her.” Revyn gestured grandly at the group assembled. “But enough talking. We’ve wasted half of our time just explaining. Come on then, point out the good stuff!”

“…Okay.” He inhaled deeply, drawing on a newly-found sense of energy. “Let’s do this.”

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

It was lucky for Wunferth that he went towards the White Phial by way of the cemetery. He still almost missed the shadow of Quintus Navale in the faint light of dawn as he knelt before the newly erected monument to Nurelion, even though he was purposely looking there. When he looked down, he noticed the bulging pack on the ground near him. Ready to go, it seemed, or at least as ready as he would ever be.

Wunferth cleared his throat. “Giving your final goodbyes, eh boy?”

Quintus nearly jumped out of his skin. He snapped his head to look at the source of the voice, regretting his hasty movements immediately as a sharp pain coursed through his neck. His eyes went wide when he realized who was addressing him. “I, uh, yes. Here I was so happy that he was granted a burial in Windhelm, but now I won’t be able to visit him.” He seemed to reflect on his words and instantly recoiled. “N-Not that I’m complaining, of course. I’m grateful that Ulfric is allowing me to leave instead of, well, you know…”

Wunferth cast a critical eye on the ground, where despite the permafrost, fresh dirt had been moved. “And you spent your final hours planting for your master, is that right?”

Quintus frowned. “I put off the planting because I couldn’t decide what would be best. There was no more putting it off. I put in blue, red, and purple mountain flowers, one of each. They all have restorative properties, you see. I thought that would be appropriate, even if they are all so common…”

“You honor him, that is what matters. I hope the old fool recognized what he had in the end.”

He recalled the letter left to him, and nodded silently. “I hope they can grow without any tending. I’m afraid no one else will see to them.”

“They are hardy flowers. They will bloom.” He cleared his throat, signaling a change in topic. “Now, I am here to escort you out of town. But first, there is one more thing you need.”

Quintus scrambled to his feet, still sore and off-balance. “What’s that?” he inquired meekly, very much afraid of the answer.

“I have secured you a helper for your exodus. No doubt you had more of value than you could carry, especially in the way of books.”

Quintus didn’t even stop to think of what he could mean. “Yes! Thinking of leaving those notes behind was killing me!”

Wunferth chuckled. “Very well then. Follow me and we’ll get the last few things from the store.” They began the short walk back to the marketplace, Quintus’s thoughts a jumbled mess as he tried to decide which few additional books he could bring. Wunferth said nothing until they rounded the corner and came face to face with a young street urchin. Quintus nearly ran her over he was so deep in thought, and she so small. The girl couldn’t have seen more than eight or nine winters. “Good, you made it. This is the man you will be traveling with.” Wunferth gestured to Quintus, who now realized just what the old wizard had meant. His eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re sending a child with me?”

Wunferth waved. “She has nowhere better to be.” When the alchemist continued to stare, he grumpily added “She chose for herself, it’s not like I forced her to do this.”

“Won’t her parents worry?”

“No parents.”

Quintus looked down at the girl, who was shuffling her feet uncomfortably in the snow. She looked like she wanted to disappear, and for the first time in his life Quintus thought he’d found someone even more meek than he was. “If you chose this, then I owe you my gratitude. I’ll make sure you are well taken care of in exchange for carrying some of my books, I promise.” His soft words earned a tentative glance in his direction, and despite the situation he smiled a warm, genuine smile. The girl risked a hopeful smile back.

“Come, come, we haven’t got all day!” Wunferth’s rough voice interrupted. “You are supposed to be gone at dawn, and here we are still. Fetch what you want the girl to bring. You have two minutes.”

The poor young man jolted, and darted into the shop without another word. He hadn’t bothered to lock it, after all. Wunferth followed behind, with the girl bringing up the rear. They watched as he dug out a second pack from back in his storeroom. He then gave the bag to the girl. “There are several books on the table upstairs. Put in only as many as you think you can carry. Anything would be a big help.” He smiled again, forcing himself to push down the frenzy eating at him. She quickly nodded and scurried to do as he asked.

“Trusting her, eh?”

“If I tried to choose, we'd be here far longer than two minutes. And to be honest, I couldn’t bear the thought of going up the stairs again,” he replied. Every time he shifted, he was reminded of his injuries…

“You have been limping.”

“Yeah.”

They fell into silence, the only sounds being those of the little girl rustling around upstairs. Wunferth surveyed the space. “Still looks pretty full. Didn’t some help show up last night?”

Was this a trap? Quintus looked away. “Help? Who would help me?”

“Don’t be coy, boy, the help I sent.”

Well then. “They did. They took some of the best potions in stock, and the rarest ingredients that would not go bad. They were careful to leave enough so as not to raise too much suspicion. They couldn’t take the books, though. If that was found, they would be instantly connected to me and it would be all the worse for them.”

“They are clever, those Grey-skins.” Wunferth paused. “I’ll see to it that the books the girl cannot carry are stored away safely in my laboratory. You may have them whenever you desire.”

And that brought up the most important question Quintus had been forgetting to ask time and time again. Only now, with a moment to breathe, did it occur to him to ask. “Why help me so much? Not that I don’t appreciate it, of course, but you swear loyalty to Ulfric, and he thinks I’m an enemy!”

Wunferth frowned. “Ulfric has my loyalty, it is true, but that does not mean I agree with every decision he makes. Suffice it to say I do not agree with this decision. You are harmless, not at all a threat to him, but he still perceives a threat because you held fast to your own ideals rather than yield to his. It’s become a matter of pride for him now. You should know, for the record, that I did try-”

He was interrupted by the patter of feet as the girl clambered down the stairs. “I could only carry four, sir,” she admitted with some embarrassment. “There were more on the table. I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be,” Quintus soothed. Secretly, he was impressed that the wisp of a girl could carry even that much. “That is four more than I would have had without you. Thank you.” 

The old wizard began to head for the door, apparently forgoing whatever he had planned to say before the girl’s arrival. “Then it is time.”

Quintus’s eyes did one last scan of the shop. Nothing left but cheap odds and ends and… A glimmer of gold caught his eye, and he realized with great shame that he had nearly forgotten one very important thing. He walked towards the counter where a Dwemer gyro lay on display. It had absolutely no practical application, which was probably why he hadn’t considered it until this moment. It was, however, very sentimental. Fjori had delved into Blackreach for days on a mission and brought this back to him as a gift. Even in the midst of danger she had been thinking of him. He had to find a way to bring it along! The item was not heavy, but took up a lot of space. If only he could attach it… And then he remembered the stash of leather strips behind the counter. Ignoring Wunferth’s annoyed harrumph, he reached over and withdrew one, then began to tie a knot around one of the metal bands. Once he was on his way, he’d fasten it to his back, like a quirky bauble of some kind.

“NOW are you ready?”

“Yes, sir, sorry sir.”

“Then we’ll be on our way to the stables. I’ve arranged for a carriage to any one city of your choosing. I hope you have an idea in mind, but if not, you’d best think quickly.” Wunferth pushed the door open and began a brisk pace, leaving him no choice but to follow without looking back. This was it. No more White Phial. He gripped the straps of his pack to bolster his courage and followed.

Wunferth ignored it, as if he’d expected it all along, but Quintus got quite a shock to see all the vendors in the marketplace standing in front of their stalls, watching the scene somberly. Hillevi and her husband, Niranye, old Oengul and his apprentice, even that Aval fellow from last night… The only person that did not surprise him was Viola Giordano; she most certainly wanted the scoop. They weren’t staring, though. It truly felt more like a respectful salute. Damn it all, Quintus could feel the familiar lump in his throat forming. Not now, not in front of everyone. All he could do was nod in silent acknowledgement as they hurried by.

Turning the corner to the city gate, it only continued. Many dark elves leaned against the stone wall with their arms crossed and deep frowns plastered to their faces, but they too nodded at his passing. Good old Revyn wasn’t afraid to speak up though. “The Argonians down at the docks send their regards, Navale.” The Argonians? He hadn’t even met the Argonians! Somehow he suspected that it went back to Fjori again, or at least had to do with one outsider speaking to another.

The moving scene was interrupted by a sharp command. “Move along, Grey-skins! This isn’t a place for you to loiter!” A city guard out on patrol could be seen at the end of the passage, along with several colleagues. The alchemist panicked, fearing they would somehow start a fight over this.

Wunferth looked as if he were about to say something, but another powerful voice echoed through the alley first. “Standing near the gate is no crime, guardsman. They are causing no trouble. Leave them be.” When he squinted, he could make out the form of Brunwulf Free-Winter. That was lucky. He was probably the only man who could get away with standing up to the guards besides the wizard. He may be oblivious to a great many things, but even he knew from his dealings with Dunmer customers that the man was respected by them for his willingness to come to their defense.

His voice of authority was enough to make the guards stand down, even if grudgingly. He could just make out their muted grumblings as they shuffled off. Finally, this got a smile from some of the Dunmer.

“Safe travels, Quintus,” Malthyr called.

“You’ll be back soon,” Ambarys predicted with a grin.

And as soon as he reached the gate itself, Brunwulf turned to him with a melancholy expression. “May the Divines watch over you, Navale. I wish you all the best.” Why did the man look so upset when he hadn’t even really known him? How strange, even as he was being kicked out of this community, if felt as if he were being welcomed into it…

“Hurry, boy. Can’t keep the carriage driver waiting,” Wunferth urged impatiently, beginning to push the doors to the bridge open.

Turning one last time, he mouthed the words ‘thank you’, swallowed hard, and followed. Farewell, Windhelm.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

“So, where are we going, mister?” the driver inquired as he gnawed on a stalk of straw.

Quintus had a long walk across the freezing bridge to consider his answer. Before he took off for good, he wanted to find Fjori. The problem was, he had no idea how to. She would be off on an adventure, possibly anywhere in Skyrim. Given their prior conversation, he doubted she’d return to her home in Morthal any time soon. That meant the one place she might return to would be the city where she was a Thane. Damn it all, had he seriously never asked her where she was a Thane? It couldn’t be Winterhold, that much was certain. And definitely not here in Eastmarch.

From his spot on the bench of the carriage, Quintus called out with more confidence than he felt, “Whiterun, please.” It was on his way home if nothing else, and it was a busy crossroads. Maybe someone there would have heard of her.

“All right then, that’s not so bad. We should make it before dusk just fine.” The driver turned to face forward, and gave the reins a gentle slap to his horses. “Hyah!”

The carriage lurched forward, nearly sending the little girl flying. Only the weight of the books in her lap held her in place. It didn’t feel too good on his sore back either. This was going to be a long ride…

“What’s in Whiterun?” she finally found the nerve to ask. Perhaps with Wunferth’s intimidating presence gone, she had grown a bit more courageous.

“To be honest, I’m not sure. It’s somewhere that’s not Windhelm, and right now that’s good enough for me.”

She nodded. “Me too. I overheard somebody say once that it’s not nearly so cold and snowy. Maybe I could find more flowers to sell there.”

His interest was piqued. “You sell flowers?”

“Whatever I can find. I know it’s not much better than begging, but I try.”

“Hey, that could be really helpful. I work with many different flowers. You could find them, and I could turn them into potions. We’d be a good team.” 

“You think so?” It was as if the girl couldn’t bring herself to believe it could be true.

“Definitely…. Uh, say, I still don’t know your name. That won’t do at all. Mine is Quintus. What’s yours?”

“Sofie,” she declared. “And no, I don’t want to go back to Windhelm, so don’t worry about me.”

“That’s good to know.” And it was. And maybe, with this girl hanging around, he’d have something to focus on besides his own worries. He could drown in them. Wunferth couldn’t have known how helpful this was when he plucked her from the streets.

“Say, Quintus, what’s that weird metal thing hanging on your bag? I’ve been wondering since I saw you put it on.”

“Well, it’ll be a long carriage ride. You want to hear the whole story?” She nodded eagerly. “Okay then. I warn you, I’m not much of a storyteller, but I’ll try my best. The woman who found this thing, she’s the real storyteller.” His throat closed temporarily. “I hope you get to meet her.”


	17. Covalent Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quintus waits for Fjori as the clock is ticking. When he finds her, he has a lot he needs to get off of his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, I haven't even gotten to Fjori's Morthal arc, but this seems like a good place to start wrapping up this story. I think after doing an epilogue, I'll start a new story to continue where this leaves off. Thoughts?

The air in Whiterun tasted like grass, in the best way possible. Perhaps it was because the air in Windhelm was so bitterly cold that all it did was numb one’s face, and this was so mild in comparison that one could actually breathe in the fragrances. Strange how that worked, seeing as they hadn’t traveled all that far to reach this land of billowing tundra cotton. As the carriage drew near the city walls, Quintus wracked his brain trying to recall if it had been like this when he had traveled to Windhelm seven years ago. It seemed like such a distant memory now.

Quintus looked down at the sleeping girl across the way. She was bundled in the blankets that had been provided in the carriage. This was a far cry from having a travel partner like Nurelion. Sofie had listened to his clumsy story attentively despite his stumbles. She’d gaped and pointed at the hot springs near the volcanic tundra, and the huge mountain towering over everything. Quintus could only smile sadly at the mountain, recalling how many times Fjori had been up and down that thing as the Dragonborn. Perhaps she was up there now. He did cheer up when they hit the plains. There were so many flowers, both he and the girl had been impressed at the variety. Still, she had had a long day, and once they started into the long, flat stretch, she’d passed out. He’d have to wake her soon.

“Need any advice on where to stay?” The voice of the driver jolted him out of his trance. He hadn’t said a word since they’d departed, no doubt used to customers ignoring him as he drove.

“Sure, I’ll take whatever you can give,” he agreed.

“Both the Drunken Huntsman and the Bannered Mare have food, and you’ll find them both on your way upwards. City’s built on a hill, you see. For beds, though, the Bannered Mare is your only option. It’s right in the marketplace. You should be able to send word to your kin from there if you’re so inclined. They’ve also got temples to Kynareth and Arkay. You may want to check out Arcadia’s Cauldron in the marketplace as well. She might have some work for you to do to keep you busy.”

“And do you know off the top of your head if a woman named Fjori lives here?” he asked hopefully.

The man shrugged as he guided the horses off the main road and towards the stables. “I don’t know if she lives here, but I’ve driven her between here and Windhelm a few times now. You might catch her.”

Well, it was something. He leaned over and gently nudged the sleeping child awake as the carriage came to a halt. “We’re here. Still some daylight, even.”

She blinked sleepily. “Oh, that’s good. Are we going to see the city?”

“Of course. Come on, then.” He rose, and offered his hand to help her up. Then they grabbed their heavy packs and jumped off the carriage. 

When he moved to pay, the driver held up his hand. “Old Wunferth already took care of everything. I wish you both the best. And ask around town. They might know more about this Fjori of yours.”

“Thank you, I will.” He pulled the pack onto his back and began to ascend the steep slope into the city. It was an impressive sight in the distance, but the people who lived here must be in good shape from climbing up and down! Sofie struggled too as she followed. Between the books and the incline, both were breathing too hard to hold a decent conversation.

“Hail, Imperial!” A guard wearing leather armor adorned with a golden sash startled him in his intense focus to climb. He stood between them and the city gates. “What business have you in the city?”

Divines, please, he couldn’t handle being cast out of yet another city... “I-I mean, the girl and I, we seek refuge for the night.”

“Ah, then you’ll want to head towards old Hulda’s place, the Bannered Mare. She’ll get you set up. Do you need help finding it?”

Quintus felt the weight of anxiety ease. The guards here were HELPFUL towards outsiders? “No, I should be all right.” Then, he tried something else. “Say, I’m also trying to find a woman named Fjori. Do you know if she lives here?”

The guard’s helmet covered his entire face, or else Quintus would have seen the way his face lit up. “Thane Fjori? The Dragonborn?”

His heart beat a little faster. He’d somehow gotten it right on the first try! “Yes, her! I know her, and I’ve been trying to get in contact with her, but she’s been hard to find. Is she in town?”

The guard folded his arms. “You understand that I can’t just volunteer that information. As much as I’d like to believe you, Imperial, you may not be telling the entire truth, and she values her privacy. You may search for her, but I won’t point you in the right direction.”

His heart sank once more. “I do understand. Thank you for your help.”

Before he could trudge into the city, the guard interrupted. “But if I see her, who should I tell her is looking for her?”

“Quintus. Quintus Navale. Or, if it’s easier for you, the alchemist from Windhelm.”

“Aye, that will work better. Thane Fjori does have many friends. Helps a lot of people. It wouldn’t surprise me if you spoke the truth. I’ll keep my eyes open, friend.”

What a change! Had he been in Windhelm so long that he’d truly forgotten how civil people could be to foreigners? “Thank you very much, sir. I appreciate it more than you can know.” Turning to Sofie, he added “Come on then, Sofie. Let’s find this inn.”

“Okay.” She shifted her pack and followed, waving with a big smile at the guard. He waved back. Maybe things were looking up.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Waiting was the worst. Whenever something bothered Quintus, he always kept himself busy so he wouldn’t think about it, and this was no exception. Taking the carriage driver’s suggestion, he had visited the alchemist, also an Imperial, in her shop and offered help. She couldn’t afford to pay him, but he was happy to simply be in his usual habitat with someone who understood alchemy. All the same, he couldn’t stay there doing chores for too long before he felt as if he were stepping on her toes, and despite all his respect for her and her work as a healer, she didn’t have the same academic passion he did. Afternoons, therefore, he spent with Sofie, leaving the city walls to find new plants. Some were familiar, and some the child had never seen. He couldn’t help but explain what effects they could have, and he quickly realized through his constant impromptu quizzes that the girl was a quick study. Finally, as the sun set, they headed back inside, where he read through Nurelion’s notes as an old comfort by the light of the bedside candle. Another day gone, another day without Fjori. If only he could sleep, then the time would go faster! Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to get much, lying awake with only the company of his worries.

Sofie did not have a room at the inn. When they’d inquired about lodging, the innkeeper informed them that there was only one open bed. The alchemist was fully prepared to sleep at the table in the room as he had so often done after pulling all-night study sessions in his youth. Indeed, he spent the first night in that way despite Sofie’s protests that she was used to sleeping on the ground. The next day, however, there was a strange stroke of luck. Sofie met another girl while sitting out near the Gildergreen, and as children were wont to do, they became fast friends in no time. She dragged Sofie into playing games with the others, much to Quintus’s relief (he had no experience caring for children), and when the sun started to set, she offered a place to sleep. The house where this little girl stayed ended up being completely unoccupied by anyone except her, something about being an orphan and being allowed to live on the bottom floor. The neighboring blacksmith corroborated the story, and Quintus really did miss having a bed, so he went along with it.

Three days down, four to go. He had done his calculations carefully, allotting enough gold for lodging and food for a week before needing to move on. There was also the matter of him having only brought the clothes on his back. He had purchased a change of clothes for both him and the girl, so he needed to do the washing each morning to keep with his standards. Despite his best efforts at hygiene, he still missed warm water, soap, a clean shave… That, and everything else about being a drifter was slowly making him crazy. The lack of control drove him to a glass of cheap wine each night as soon as Sofie was gone, one of the few things he could still stomach. Finally, he pledged to Kynareth as he sat alone in his small room that he would pray in the temple the next day, that his pleas would be carried on her winds to Fjori’s ear and she would come before he had to give up on her.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

“I’m still upset that after all that work, Yngol’s Barrow didn’t even have a word wall. I mean, they always have word walls when they have a dragon-claw key!” Fjori griped as the city came into view around the bend. “Three days wasted, going out of our way. And so close to Windhelm! It nearly killed me to skip right over it!”

“Normally, I’d say you are being overly dramatic, but for once I agree with you. Well, for everything except that last part,” Lydia sighed as she rested her elbows on her knees. “I mean, if you want to be optimistic as you so often are, the chance to meet the ghost of Yngol himself was certainly something. And he had a nice helmet.”

“True, but I felt bad for disturbing the guy without a good reason. Poor Yngol never even made it back across the Sea of Ghosts, and then his shade goes and gets beaten down by the Dragonborn…” Fjori echoed Lydia’s sigh. “Back to the drawing board I guess, just a few days later than originally planned.”

“I thought you liked distractions?”

The young woman shook her head with a frown. “Not when they are keeping me from the one thing I want. Before, you’re right, I would have leapt at the chance to put off dealing with Alduin. Now…I just want, well…”

“A certain earnest alchemist who doubles as a good cuddler?”

Fjori would have protested that, but far better Lydia suspect only that than what had actually happened between her and Quintus. “Yeah. I think about him all the time. Even now, I’m looking at that man picking flowers along the road and thinking he looks just like Quintus. I mean, what the heck is up with that?”

The man heard his name carried on Kynareth’s wind even as he was bent over pulling up stalks of lavender. When he looked up from the task at hand, he saw a familiar sight that nearly made him cry. “Fjori?!” All the flowers he’d gathered tumbled to the ground.

Both women in the cart did a double-take, jaws dropping in shock as they realized Fjori hadn’t been seeing things at all despite how out of place he was. “Quintus?!” To her dismay, the cart continued to roll on by, its driver ignorant to this revelation. Quintus was having none of it and began to chase after it, though she noticed he had a bit of a limp that kept him from full speed. “Driver, stop the carriage!” she shrilled, jumping over the side before he could even react to her demand. The resulting collision as Quintus ran into her full suit of armor would be enough to give him new bruises over the top of his old ones, but none of that mattered at the moment. He threw his arms around her and held her so tightly that even with her armor she could sense a highly abnormal level of urgency. It was all she could do to squeeze him back without further injuring him. 

“I don’t understand… I mean, hell, I’m so, so glad to see you, but how did you…” She had to fairly pry him off so she could look to him for an answer, only to realize with a sinking feeling that not only was he exhausted, eyes ringed with dark circles as she had seen once before when Nurelion’s illness had been wearing at him, but he was completely unkempt. That was a first. He was starting to sport whiskers in places beyond his sideburns, which were no longer trimmed. His clothes were wrinkled. He didn’t smell like flowers or berries or much of anything when she held him. And gods did he look pale in a sickly sort of way! He was like a shadow of his normal self! The worst part was that she could detect the start of tears welling up in his eyes as he began to tremble.

“Ah ha, I see you found the fellow I was mentioning earlier, the one that was looking for you?” the carriage driver hollered. He had stopped a few yards further down the road once he’d heard Fjori’s order, and now Lydia was exiting the cart to head in their direction. She looked just as baffled as Fjori felt at this development.

“Please, I need to speak to you alone,” he begged quietly. “No offense to Lydia, but I just can’t. Not now. Not like this.”

She nodded, then turned to her housecarl. “Lydia, go with the carriage to the city gates and pay the man. You should then head home and check on Lucia. We’ll be along later.”  
Lydia halted in her tracks. Her deep frown signaled unhappiness with this order. “Is he all right?”

Quintus forced himself to peer around Fjori and address her companion. “I’m fine now. I’ll tell you later, I promise.” The brave face he attempted to put on was betrayed by the quiver in his voice.

“Fine, fine,” Lydia grumbled, accepting this as a consolation and heading back for the carriage. Neither Fjori nor Quintus spoke a word until it began to move once more.

“We should…not talk right next to the road.” Before she could ask any questions, he was already heading towards the rocky outcroppings that surrounded the city. She questioned how he was going to scale the rough terrain given what appeared to be his weakened condition, but she hurried towards him just as he paused to find a footing to cross the stream that separated Whiterun from the main road.

“Here, let me help you,” she offered, voice laced with concern. When she grasped his arm, however, he winced and gave a small grunt of pain. This also tipped him off balance. Her quick arms were the only thing that kept him from landing face-first in the water as they scooped him up. “You’re hurt!”

“Just a few bruises, mostly healed,” he protested weakly as a blush spread across his face. “You don’t have to carry me around…”

She gently set him on a low ledge, then climbed up beside him, already unlacing her gauntlets. “It’s not just that. It looks like you haven’t been eating or sleeping. Quintus, how did you end up out here?! I can’t imagine you’d just take off and leave the store…” The gauntlets fell to the side with a dull clank that seemingly matched his brittle laugh.

“Would you believe…I got kicked out of Windhelm?”

Fjori stared. “You? Kicked out? How the hell did you manage that? You’re like the last person on Mundus I’d peg as a trouble-maker!”

Quintus studied his hands as they fidgeted anxiously. “I said ‘no’ to the wrong person.”

“I think you need to start from the very beginning.” She tried desperately to meet his gaze, but he never looked up.

“Well, it started right after you left. I got a letter. Ulfric wanted poisons for the war effort. He gave me orders to fill, but…my alchemy isn’t supposed to be used for that. When I told him I would only work on healing potions, he told me I wasn’t fully loyal and would have to leave.” The words Quintus had been storing up since everything had gone down began to bubble out, finally having an outlet for the first time in a week. With each sentence, they grew increasingly desperate. “I was terrified he was going to kill me! It would have taken one word, and he could have blasted me apart! Instead, I had one night to pack what I could carry, and he would seize the rest, including the store. They grabbed me really hard, threw me down some stairs, and hit me with some ice balls, which is why I flinched earlier. It still hurts a bit.” If he had risked a look at Fjori, he would have seen a dangerous glint in her eyes, the kind of silent fury he’d seen once before when she’d driven her axe into Calixto Corrium. As it was, he was too distraught to notice.

“I didn’t know what to do. Of course I thought about going back to Cyrodiil where I belong, but…I couldn’t just leave you! Not after everything we’ve been through, not after what we did the morning you left! But I didn’t know how to find you. I didn’t know if I’d have to go, if the money ran out, if you’d never know where I went. I was so scared, Fjori! I was so confused, and I have been ever since you left last time. I don’t know what’s going on!” Up until this point, Quintus had done a decent job of controlling his emotions. She had yet to see him cry, even if she’d seen the after-effects. That was gone. He buried his face in his hands to try and hide it as he broke down. “What’s…going to happen…now?” he choked out the words between sobs.

Just as quickly as the fury had manifested, it vanished, replaced with dismay. Fjori’s first instinct was to wrap him in an embrace, but as she reached out, she recalled that her armor was not going to be the most comforting. Clumsily she ripped open the fastenings. “Quintus, it’s okay, I’m here now! We’ll figure this out, I promise! You don’t have to go back to Cyrodiil, I’ll take care of you! And as soon as Alduin is dead, I’ll murder Ulfric so you can get your store back, and…” She paused her rambling to pull the chest plate off, letting it fall next to the gauntlets. “We’ll stay together. It will all be okay.” Powerful arms pulled him close, allowing her to feel every shudder that wracked his body. He winced again, reminding her of his injuries, and she immediately eased up a bit.

“You literally have…the weight of the world…on your shoulders…” he gave a muffled protest as the tears continued to flow, now blotted by her tunic. “I can’t be…a burden to you! You probably…can’t afford…to keep me…and I wouldn’t want you to.”

“My house is yours. You will stay there. I hunt quite a bit, and you’re a good cook. With just a bit of money for vegetables, you’ll do fine. I know people here. They might have odd jobs for you, especially Arcadia.”

“We’ve met,” he mentioned abruptly.

She smiled as she began to rock him. “Good. She’s a great woman, isn’t she?”

“She’s been…very kind to me,” he agreed softly with a sniffle.

“It will all work out. I know none of it will be easy, I’m not trying to pretend it will be. You are a supremely gifted man, and this whole thing must be beyond frustrating. You also like control, and I think you’ve not been able to take care of yourself because this whole ordeal is eating at you. It hurts me to see you in such a condition, Quintus. Please, now that you know you will have a home, start eating more? And, relax so you can sleep at night?”

“Not until we talk about the morning you left!”

That surprised her, seeming completely unrelated to the problem at hand. She pulled away so she could study his tear-stained face. “Why? Was something wrong? I thought you enjoyed it!”

“Not wrong but…new. And you were gone before I could even sort things out. I mean…” He shifted uncomfortably, his next words barely coming out as a whisper. “I lost my virginity.”

Fjori blinked. “But we didn’t actually do anything!”

His head snapped up in disbelief. “You think that didn’t count?!”

“I…no?” Her stomach began to twist into knots. This was the first time she had a working relationship and she had already botched it.

“You were the first person to… I mean, you were the first person I saw… By Akatosh, Fjori, I’m not the same after that, and neither are we!” If he had been starting to calm down, that all went out the window with his fresh wave of tears. “I’ve never done anything so intimate with anyone. I wanted so badly for you to lay with me when it was all over and tell me it was good. I wanted you to hold me, kiss me, make me feel like it meant as much to you as it did to me. But you left, Fjori, and I had to try and figure it out by myself.”

“Shit, Quintus, I didn’t know…” Helplessly, she gathered him in her arms again the way he’d wished back then, afraid to touch him where it would hurt but frustrated at not being able to fully convey her regret. “All I could think about was not getting caught, which was my fault because I insisted on trying to squeeze it in with the limited time we had. Honest, if I had realized you were feeling that way, I wouldn’t have walked out on you…”

“Was it not a big deal to you?” he demanded without ever raising his head from her chest. She could feel him brace himself for the worst.

“If you want the honest truth,” she rasped, fighting back her own tears, “you holding my hand was the big deal for me, not our frolic the morning after. We had all the time we needed to sort out my conflicted feelings about that, but then I didn’t give you the same when you hit your big turning point. I’m so broken, Quintus. It didn’t occur to me that the physical stuff could be more, mean more, than just gratification. It never has before. Please don’t think I didn’t care. I just…didn’t understand. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry. I would never knowingly hurt you, you have to believe me!” Panicked now, she tilted his chin up and began pressing several kisses to his forehead, as if they could somehow make this better.

Her heart nearly shattered when he pulled away. He roughly wiped his eyes. “Don’t do this to try and make up for it, you’re just going through motions. It’s probably my own fault for being needy anyhow. Why would you want a kept man who needs constant validation?”

“Needy? I’m the needy one. I need you to stay!” Finally, a tear of her own slid down her cheek. “I may be stupid, but I understand that I’m the only reason you have not to return to Cyrodiil. But I can’t bear the thought of you leaving, Quintus Navale.” She pressed a hand to her mouth to hold back too many emotions. He had to deal with enough of his own right now. “I beg you, please don’t go because I’ve screwed up! I meant it with everything in me when I told you I loved you.” At last she fell silent, shoulders slumped in defeat. The only thing left for her was his verdict.

“Someday, when all of this calms down, I want you to tell me everything that went through your head that morning, everything you felt. But today none of it would come out right. You and I, we’re both messes, aren’t we?” He gave a tiny, fragile chuckle as he reached out to brush her tear away. She looked up at him with a wide-eyed gaze, automatically reciprocating the gesture. “Today, we should go home. I’m tired, and I think it would do me good.”

“You’ll stay?” The implication wasn’t good enough. She had to hear it clearly.

“I’ll stay.”

In contrast to her prior kisses, the one she delivered to his mouth after those words held everything she carried within her. There was no lust, her hands didn’t move from their spots on either side of his scruffy cheeks, her tongue didn’t ravage, but it was all gratitude and joy and relief. It was still enough to leave him dizzy. With a contented sigh, he poured all of his best into it as well, lest she not realize how much it meant to him that she would not abandon him even at his lowest.

When they finally broke the kiss, she rested her forehead against his, panting. “It kills me thinking that you probably walked past my house countless times in the last few days when you could have made yourself at home.”

“I probably did. People love you here, though. They didn’t want any random guy trying to hunt you down, so they wouldn’t tell me where you lived.”

“Modest little place right next to the blacksmith.”

Quintus gaped, separating himself from her. “You mean the one with that little orphan girl living downstairs?”

“Yeah, that’d be the one.”

“You never told me you adopted!”

“It never came up?” She shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Besides, I didn’t really adopt her. I’m way too young to be a mom. I just offered her a place to stay so she wasn’t sleeping outside, and make sure she has plenty to eat so she doesn’t go hungry.”

“My orphan girl has been staying with your orphan girl!”

“Wait, you have an orphan girl too?!”

“It’s a long story. I’ll save it for Lydia though. I just wanted…to get the touchy things out of the way, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” Fjori began to rummage around in her pack. “I’m sure you haven’t had the resources to craft yourself any healing potions, so use this. I don’t like how you’re limping around, and I know you don’t want me carrying you bridal-style through the streets of Whiterun.” She pulled out the White Phial and offered it to the one who repaired it. “It only seems fitting.”

Quintus accepted the bottle with a sad smile. A relic from a past life, one he may never live again. There was no dwelling in the past though. Fjori was offering him a future, even if it was in a land surrounded by strangers. All he knew was that wherever Fjori was, that was his home now. Perhaps someday he would regret it, but right now, unsettling as it was, he needed to be with her more than he needed his independence. 

“To Whiterun, then.” He tipped the bottle in a mock toast, then downed the contents. It only took seconds before he could feel the sites of his bruises tingle from the regeneration. “Hmm, I make these potions all the time, but I rarely ever need them for myself. I’m glad to know the potion you drink from the Phial doesn’t taste too horrible. Kind of like a hearty stew. Wheat and blisterwort, I think?” He held out the Phial to its current owner.

She laughed as she reclaimed it and tucked it away. “I don’t usually think about it.” Then, she began to get suited up in her armor once more. “Feel better?”

With her busy donning her chest plate, he got to his feet without any help. It hadn’t been this easy in days. “Much. I think I could even go for a nice dinner tonight.”

“Good.” Now ready, she shyly extended her hand. She had forgone the gauntlets, leaving them sticking out of her pack and keeping her hands exposed. Her eyes were blue today, and they asked what she couldn’t bear to say out loud. Someday, he swore, he’d get her to accept the validity of asking for affection. Today, he’d offer it with only her subtle hints. With a reassuring smile, he intertwined his fingers with hers. Hand in hand they walked into the city, ready to start a new chapter.


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tying up lose ends, as epilogues tend to do.

It was a long night of explanations. The first thing Quintus had to do upon returning to Fjori’s house (which apparently had been Sofie’s friend’s house all along) was give Lydia the basic run-down of what had happened. Now that he’d gotten all his emotions out of the way, it was significantly easier to tell. When he finished the part about being tossed out, he could see Lydia’s apprehensive look as she watched her Thane’s face. No doubt the practical housecarl was worried Fjori would be starting some kind of rampage in Windhelm. Whatever her reaction had been the first time he told her, this time it was stone cold. Then, he got to the parts he hadn’t told Fjori: how their Dunmer friends had helped abscond many of his materials and potions for later, how Wunferth had found him Sofie to help carry more of his things, how everyone had come out to give him a send-off. Those were the more hopeful parts of the story, and he felt almost guilty he hadn’t given them to Fjori earlier when she needed to hear them most. As it was, the tension seemed to melt off of her as she heard the good people had done to help him. Perhaps she wouldn’t burn the entire city to the ground now…

Then, once the girls came in from playing, there was a break for everyone to eat. The little house had never been as full as it was that evening, with five people crammed in the dining and living areas. The two girls sat in chairs by the fire pit while the adults sat on the bench along the table. Finally Quintus’s appetite had returned, and he dug into the venison chops with gusto despite the chewy consistency of the preserved meat. Fjori also threw some potatoes over the fire, and pulled out some apples from the barrels in her kitchen. He, and everyone else for that matter, devoured everything.

Once they were sated, Quintus resumed his story, telling of his and Sofie’s journey to Whiterun and what they had been doing since their arrival. Now that the girl was here, she added her own details to his narrative.

Lastly, it was Fjori’s turn to recount what had happened with her battle against Alduin. She admitted her lack of victory, her depression at the thought of needing to continue growing stronger to defeat him once and for all, and her trip to Riften and Yngol’s Barrow before returning to Whiterun via the same carriage Quintus had taken. She omitted the part about being afraid she wouldn’t be able to see him for a long time. That was a promise with terms that might be changing, at least she hoped so. Instead, she presented him the copy of Sinderion’s speech, which he accepted with keen interest. Some new reading material was just what he needed, he declared.

When all was said and done, both girls and Quintus looked like they could barely keep their eyes open. The girls she sent to bed with a firm command, and they were too tired to argue. The man she took by the hand and guided upstairs, which he had never seen. She led him to her bedroom, threw back the covers, and directed him to lie down. For a moment it seemed he would protest, but given everything that had transpired, he was too exhausted to do so. She wasn’t certain, but she suspected he was out as soon as she pulled the covers back over him.

“Sleep well, Quintus,” she murmured, leaning down to kiss his forehead. He didn’t stir.

Satisfied that everyone was taken care of, Fjori returned downstairs where Lydia was waiting. She’d stolen Lucia’s spot by the fire, poking at the coals absently. “Now that that’s taken care of, I believe you and I need to talk.”

“Yeah. Didn’t see this coming, did we?”

Fjori took her spot in the chair next to Lydia. “Look, I know what I promised, and I don’t want you to think this is just an excuse for me to break it. However, we talked, and even though it doesn’t make a lot of sense, he wants to stay in Skyrim. For me. Obviously he will live here in Whiterun until further notice, but I am a Nord of my word. As much as it would kill me to leave him here alone for several months, I will do it to honor our deal. He’ll have the girls, and the people here in the city will take him in, I’m sure of it. Does that sound fair to you?”

Lydia stopped what she was doing, letting the poker fall to the ground. “Fjori, tell me the truth. You love him, don’t you? I may not be an expert, but I can see the way you look at him, the way he looks at you. Do you deny it?”

“I don’t.” She admitted it much more readily than Lydia had expected. “I love him, without a doubt.”

Lydia sighed. “Then I suppose holding you to this promise is silly. You’ve struggled with keeping it, but you have all the same. It makes you absolutely miserable, and let me tell you, you are difficult to deal with when you are miserable. I think you’ll get better work done if your morale stays up.”

“You mean it, Lydia?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “I hereby decree that Fjori may visit Quintus no more than five days out of the month, while spending the other twenty-five to twenty-six training to defeat Alduin.”

Fjori’s arms wrapping around her shoulders excitedly was the last thing the warrior expected. “Thank you, thank you, thank you Lydia! You’re the best!”

“My Thane, stop this. You are embarrassing yourself…”

“No, I’m embarrassing you!” She let go with a big grin. “I mean it, Lydia. You won’t regret this!”

“You do know that you are the one in charge, not me, right?”

“Hey, Nords always honor their promises. In this matter, you’re the one calling the shots.”

“Hmm, and they call us barbaric!” Lydia waved her Thane away. “I suppose you’ll go crawl into bed with Quintus now?”

“Yep. He’s so sleep-deprived I doubt that me crawling in next to him would wake him. Tomorrow, we’ll get him established here in town, make sure everyone knows he’s with me, and then we can worry about our next destination.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Quintus followed them out past the city gates and to the stables. Lucia and Sofie had already given their goodbyes before running off with their friends. A refreshing breeze swept around them, tugging playfully at his new tunic; she’d insisted on buying him another outfit before leaving, and he chose to wear it immediately while seeing her off. “I’ll make sure they eat well. When you come home, I’ll have a nice, hot meal ready. And don’t worry about buying any health potions; I’ll make you some very effective ones with the ingredients you left.”

“You know you don’t have to make it up to me, right?” Fjori turned and gave a pointed look.

“I know. But I’m still going to try.” He shrugged with a small smile. “What else can a man do besides earn his keep?”

“Teach Arcadia, from the sounds of things. I guess you never let on how much you knew until today, did you?”

“Well, I don’t like to brag…”

“It’s good. It will keep your academic edges sharp.” Fjori turned to her trusty companion. “Are we ready?”

“As usual, my Thane, we were waiting for you.”

Quintus couldn’t help a snort of laughter. “Lydia’s got you there.”

The sound of his laughter, far stronger than it had been yesterday, made her indescribably happy. For the first time since she’d contemplated feelings for the Imperial alchemist, she interrupted him with a deep, heartfelt kiss in plain sight of anyone and everyone. “As usual, we’ll be back. I promise to be safe.” Leaving him a parting caress with her cold, metallic gauntlets, she beamed and took off down the road, leaving Lydia chasing behind with a shout. He just stood there with a dazed grin on his face for several moments as he watched them disappear on the horizon.

No sooner than he’d turned around to head back inside, he heard a different voice utter his name. “Quintus Navale?”

“Yes?”

When he looked back behind him, he saw the voice belonged to a courier. Who could possibly have sent him a message? “Finally I’ve tracked you down! You were very difficult to find. I’ve got this letter for you. Well, letter and something else. It feels a bit heavy.” The man held out his delivery, which Quintus took curiously. “Looks like that’s it. Got to go.” With no further comments, the courier headed back to the main road.

He told the truth; something heavy was included in this envelope. With the flames of his curiosity fanned even further, he tore it open where he stood. The ring inside nearly fell to the ground, but he caught it just in time. This was no cheap thing, he quickly realized in shock. The band was made of gold, and inlaid with a sapphire. There was even an enchantment on it; he could feel it as he held it in his hand. Who in the world had sent him such a thing? Finally he opened the letter.

Dear Quintus,

I wish I had good news to give you. I wish I could tell you that everything went according to plan and that Alduin is dead, that I will be returning to you shortly. I’m sorry to say that it has not, he is not, and I will not. I’ve severely injured him, but failed to kill him. Now I need to get stronger and hunt him down once again. I made a promise not to let my feelings for you interfere with my mission, but I never thought I could regret it this much. Every little thing reminds me of you, from the book I acquired (I’ll give it to you in person the next time we meet), to the nightshade in the Velvet LaChance, to the Argonian waiter that wants to give his girl a ring to represent their love.

On that note, you’ve no doubt realized there is a ring included here. See, that Argonian got me thinking. Nords are not the most, well, romantic. I wonder what an Imperial expects when their relationship gets serious. We didn’t have time to talk about that. Regardless, I want you to know without a doubt that I value what we have and want to remain yours even if I will need to be away for a long time. So, I made you this. The craftsmanship is decent if I do say so myself, though the enchantment turned out to be spectacularly pathetic. I think it will boost your alchemy skills by like 1%... Even if it is pretty useless, I hope it will remind you of my feelings for you.

You have been and always will be my motivation for finishing this damned quest. I want to wake up next to you again. I want to have all the time in the world to make love properly with you. I want to taste your cooking, hold your hand, and a million other things I don’t even know I want yet. I’ll give this my all so I can hurry back to you. Please wait for me.

Only yours,

Fjori

 

Quintus sank to his knees as he clutched the letter to his chest. It was dated several days ago, meaning she’d sent this while being completely oblivious to his plight. Sweet Mara, these were her true thoughts, untainted by any pity! Given how much he had cried yesterday, how was it even possible for more tears to be forming?

With trembling hands, he moved to put on the ring. “I’ll be waiting right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand ta da! The longest thing I have ever written! No, I do not plan on leaving it there. Keep your eyes open for the next installment, wherein Fjori and Quintus roadtrip to Morthal, deal with vampires and Fjori's ex (not sure what's worse), and put an end to Alduin/Ulfric.


End file.
